


Duct Tape

by emmals16



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Blood, Blood and Gore, Blood and Injury, Blood and Torture, Comfort/Angst, Connor (Detroit: Become Human) Whump, Connor Deserves Happiness, Emotional Hurt, Family, Fluff, Friendship, Gen, Hank Anderson & Connor Friendship, Hank Anderson Swears, Hurt, Hurt/Comfort, Poor Connor, Protective Hank Anderson, Thirium (Detroit: Become Human), Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-17
Updated: 2020-08-09
Packaged: 2021-02-07 19:37:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 32,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21463435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emmals16/pseuds/emmals16
Summary: "Everything came back in fragments. Chrystals of red shards forming an unidentifiable picture. That was what came first. And it was not very helpful. "~Or~Hank Anderson knows jack shit about androids (Jeffery), he can barely change the settings on his own phone...but he'll try his best with what he's got.
Relationships: Hank Anderson & Connor
Comments: 52
Kudos: 411





	1. Limbo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm trying to get back into writing... and I'm pretty sure there's something wrong with my demented little brain, but whateva. 
> 
> This will be a couple chapters... don't actually know how many to be honest. At least two more, but I might expand on it. However long it is, I'll wrap it up all nice and pretty with a little bow. 
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> (Disclaimer: I don't own Detroit: Become Human)

_Rebooting..._

Everything came back in fragments. Chrystals of red shards forming an unidentifiable picture. That was what came first. And it was not very helpful. 

Sound was next. A scratching sound and the soft slice of something cutting a sort of fabric, perhaps. Mumbling of indecipherable words, but they were spoken sharply enough that he could get the general idea of their purpose. There was a soft explosion, too. Every now and again— a billowing wave that seemed to come from every direction around him. 

_ Scanning systems... _

_ Errors detected. Running diagnostics... _

_ Diagnostic scan failed #*(Thirium 67%)...Calling Emergency Contact… _

More scratching and cutting noises before music came to his attention.

“ _ Domo arigato Mr. Roboto mata au hi made—” _

Something fell at his side, the sounds becoming clearer now. A clatter startled him when it came way too close to his head. He could begin feeling sensation around him. Cold, hard ground. A soft pressure beneath his head. He could also feel the lack of sensation which meant— 

“ _ Domo arigato Mr. Roboto—” _

“Goddamn, what the Hell...?” said a voice from above him. 

_ Failed to Contact Emergency Contact… _

_ Turn on Visual Receptors? _

_ Y/N _

Connor felt his world tip on its axis as his vision came flooding back in shards. Bits and pieces were missing— especially on the left side. A large gap from where he would typically be able to see was completely black now, speckles of red static flickering along the void. But, even his right side was only picking up a darkness. Fear bubbled up within him at the prospect that he was blind before— 

A flash of bright light illuminated the entire space coupled with an explosion of sound that left his audio receptors screaming with feedback. He flinched, cringing with his eyes clamped closed as though it could help clear away the sound. 

“Wha— Connor? Connor, you there?”

...Hank?

The emergency contact— that ringtone.

“You with me, kid?”

He blinked his eyes open, finding the area more illuminated now, like a flashlight was pointed directly at the ceiling. He felt confusion before a dark form blocked some of the light by leaning over him. He attempted to focus— to get his eyes to respond correctly. 

Hank snapped his fingers high above Connor’s head, “Hey, hey, look right here. Come on.”

He blinked, “Hank...what…”

“Hey there. Jesus…” he smiled wide, numerous emotions flashing across his face. Somehow a mix between fear and relief, Connor realized, “Don’t move, alright? You’re okay, back up is coming soon.”

“O-okay?”

Connor didn’t understand. His head lulled to the side away from Hank, eyes tracking up the side of the room he was in. Tools lined the walls— power drills and wrenches and whatever. Connor huffed a wobbly breath, feeling the way his body was somehow overheating and freezing at the same time. 

The room was small… and from what he could tell, it wasn’t connected to any other building. A shed then, or something similar at least. 

“Connor, hey,” Hank again, looming over him with his phone’s flashlight shining down on some part of his body that he couldn’t see this time. His expression was disdainful, though. His jaw locked and brows creased, “Do you, uh, do you remember what happened?”

Connor blinked over at him again. He could feel the air whistling past his parted lips with every breath. Hank patiently waited for a response, turning away from whatever part of Connor’s body had caught his eye to catch Connor’s gaze. Hank’s eyes danced around, taking in every detail of the mess Connor’s face apparently was. Judging from Hank’s reaction, something had to be wrong with him... _ something...something… _

Hank’s hand was clasping Connor’s shoulder, “Connor, do you remember what happened?”

Connor blinked again, taking another sharp inhale of breath, “N-no, what...I can’t feel my— where…”

Hank’s eyes darkened and Connor regretted speaking. He didn’t have time to apologize for whatever it was that made Hank’s expression turn thunderous before the look was gone and Hank was even closer to Connor’s face. 

“Hey now, don’t worry about it, okay?” Hank’s hand kept squeezing his shoulder, gaze flickering to various areas of Connor’s body distractedly, but every time he caught Connor’s gaze he’d smile, “I’m going to get you feeling 100% here in just a sec, alright?”

“Hank...I don’t,” Connor could feel the effects of low thirium. The way his thirium pump stuttered in his chest. The way he couldn’t track a sentence to completion. His eyes felt heavy, but the timer he usually had to tell him how long before shut down was missing from his vision— something either hindering his optical unit or something wrong with his processor. He didn’t know, and he wasn’t sure which one was scarier, “I can’t tell how bad— how bad is it? What...happen— what hap…”

Hank’s face twisted, his teeth biting into his lip. He whispered a curse to himself, looking at his phone desperately. Anger took over and he chucked the device across the room. Connor flinched and that was all it took before Connor felt Hank’s arms wrap around his torso, hauling him up into Hank’s own chest. His head rested in the crook of Hank’s elbow, his torso being supported by Hank’s opposite hand splayed on Connor’s hip. 

It was at that moment Connor saw the desperation that had taken place moments before, and in the time before he was back to consciousness. 

Cracked and busted white casing showed between thick strands of silver duct tape along his legs and his arms. There was barely anything left of his jeans, so his legs were almost completely bare. Hank’s jacket was wrapped snugly around Connor’s torso, pulled up to his chin as though it was Hank’s attempt at keeping the android warm— little did he know that his systems were actually overheating. 

The jacket probably was blocking the sight of even more hastily wrapped duct tape— thirium oozing out past the cracked indents and missing pieces of casing. Connor felt a pressure in his abdomen, and could distantly hear Hank mumbling things to him as he stared at the handiwork of his partner. 

“Just a few more minutes, alright. I swear,” Hank again, his mouth right next to Connor’s audio processors, forehead pressed to Connor’s temple. Hank’s grey hair was tickling against Connor’s head and only then did he realize that all of his projected skin was probably missing. 

“H—an…” Connor blinked into the empty space in front of him, “I don’t…feel…” 

Hank didn’t move or say anything in response. Connor could hear the rain outside, could see as lightning strikes lit up the thirium-stained room and the chains that hung from the wall. The biocomponents that filled several bins— all from different makes and models. 

Connor’s vision began to blur even more— red static, his audio making the rain sound distant. His thirium pump continued to stutter onwards. He hoped it would continue.

“Han—k,” he managed, “I think I’m gonna...I think…”

Hank nodded against his temple, a small sniff coming to Connor's fading attention, “Okay, okay,” his voice sounded distant as Connor’s eyes drifted shut without permission, “Go ahead and rest, kid. I’ve got you.”

The next explosion of thunder was cut off as he left the shed behind.

As he left Hank behind. 

~~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This entire idea was based around the fact that I thought it'd be hilarious if Hank's way of fixing, say, Connor's dismembered arm was to just wrap that sucker up with duct tape and force it back on Connor. He'd be all proud, too *sigh*
> 
> But naw, I had to make it a sappy and stuff. Maybe I'll make a parody later or something. Hm.
> 
> Til next time!


	2. Lust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Three days before the confusing figments of the inevitable future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Actually have everything plotted out now. 9 total chapters will be written--cue in the 9 circles of Hell titles for each of the chapters (hehe)-- updates are a little shaky on when they'll be done. I'm a college student and finals are coming in two weeks, but after that it's Winter Recess so... meh, I'll keep my hopes up. 
> 
> (Disclaimer: I don't own anything related to Detroit: Become Human)

_ Three Days Before_

_8:24 P.M._

“That’s the third identical case this week,” Hank bellows as he exits the alleyway. He comes to a stop at the edge of the curb, running a hand through his hair, “Can’t be a coincidence.”

Connor continues his search for DNA around the alley. Some fingerprints, maybe a wound the mutilated android had inflicted on the murderer. _ Something _ . Hank doubts that someone with the skills to do _ that _ to an android has the stupidity to leave behind evidence. At least any evidence that would be pretty easy to see like a bloody handprint. But, anything was possible, he supposes. 

The kid is dressed in pretty much the same stuff Hank remembers him wearing the day they first met, but now its a black blazer with none of those damn Cyberlife insignias decorating it. If Connor had even _attempted_ to continue wearing those things, Hank thinks he'd actually drown himself in the liquor he's kept locked away in his house. _Try to sober up_, Connor had said. _Only if you take that damn thing off_, Hank had countered.

And here they were.

“They didn’t kill him in that alley,” Connor explains, turning away from the brick of the building next to him. Lights of red and blue illuminate the surrounding area in vibrant colors. The lights reflect off of Hank’s eyes as their gazes meet, “They brought the body here after they hollowed it out.”

“More like ripped the poor guy to pieces,” Hank huffs.

Connor frowns slightly, “To remove that much casing...it’s like a vulture picking a corpse clean.”  
“Urgh. Imagery, Connor. Jesus.”

“Sorry,” Connor glances back into the alleyway. Hank follows his gaze. A sheet is now draped over the body. The outer casing had been ripped off of the external biocomponents. The inside of most were cleared of all support struts and structural framework— all being made from generally expensive metal. While androids were mostly renowned for their incredible AIs and their wide array of knowledge, many of their parts were valuable as well. 

Or so Connor had _ tried _ to explain to him.

He understands why the android’s biocomponents were stripped out of his body— black market, or the why the thirium was drained— his history in narcotics was enough to give him an idea there. Red Ice. Now known to be made from the blood of living beings...disgusting. The other stuff seemed similar to someone stripping the parts from a car to melt down into something else. To fix something else. 

It creeped him out how someone would pick someone clean like that and use the parts for something else _ knowing _where they came from. A bunch of fucking creeps. 

“I’d like to get one last look at the victim before leaving, if that’s alright with you, Hank.”

Hank gives a shrug, watching Connor walk back towards the covered body surrounded by forensics and examiners. It weirded Hank out sometimes, only when he allowed himself to think about it on off days, how the bodies he often found were last seen in the open air by complete strangers just doing their job. How impersonal it all seemed to be at a glance. 

God, he was having one of those days. He needed a drink...

Connor kneels down beside the body, blinking at the white sheet stained with blue before peeling it over the victim’s head. The android’s face no longer had its artificial skin projecting onto it, so the white plastimetal casing beneath shimmered in the flashlights and police lights once it was revealed from under the sheet. Hank frowns, putting his hands on his hips.

The guy was ripped apart— pieces of casing missing, biocomponents gone, thirium drained, but the part that was the most noticeably odd was how the entire back of the android’s head was missing. That was the part Connor was currently staring at, the projected skin on his hand fading away. 

Connor tips the android’s head so that his face is turned away from him, and bows his head so he could more clearly see the open space left in the victim’s own. Without warning, much to Hank’s shock, Connor plunges his hand into the broken head, twists, and pulls out a spherical shape resembling a naval mine.

Hank moves forward immediately, grabbing hold of Connor’s shoulder roughly, “What the Hell do you think you’re doing?”

Connor looks alarmed at the response, mouth parted and eyebrows raised in confusion, “I am removing his processor.”

“Shit!” Hank swears, hands moving in front of him with uncertainty, “Why?”

“Well, for two reasons, I suppose.”

He is too calm about this. Hank moves back as Connor rises to his feet. The darkened processor still resting in his hands and the surrounding officers stare in bewilderment before shaking it off and moving on with their work. Some just didn’t care enough about android crimes to warrant outrage, Hank guesses, but even Connor…

“‘_ Reasons’, _” Hank mocks, “Fuck, Connor, you just ripped that out of the guy’s head.”

“Correct, but there’s no reason to worry yourself, Hank,” Connor’s voice grows tender, a knowing and understanding expression coming to his face, “I am merely going to see if I can get any data that resembles the attacker from his shut down processor, and regardless of what happens I will then put him to rest. Markus will no doubt be happy to take him to Jericho’s Catacombs.”

Hanks stares, “You completely lost me, kid.”

Connor smiles, “Markus implemented our own way of laying androids to rest, Hank. We only need the processor to do it.”

Connor steps around Hank, moving towards the open road where they had parked among the other patrol vehicles. Hank’s bewildered stare doesn’t drop away, even as he turns on his heel and follows Connor out to the street.

“Isn’t that desecration or whatever?” Hank asks, disturbed by Connor’s nonchalance. 

Connor _ almost _ looks offended, “What? No. Why would you—” 

“You went up to a dead body and damaged it more,” Hank said it like he was talking to a third grader, “That’s desecration, you damn idiot.”

“Well, maybe in human terms,” The two of them make it to Hank’s car, standing beside it while Hank digs for his keys, “For us, this is the only part really _ important, _I guess.”

Hank unlocks the car, the two of them sliding into their seats. Hank glances quickly at the processor in Connor’s hands before Connor continues speaking.

“For androids, the processor is the only thing that makes an android unique. There are thousands of AX400 or PM700 models, unlike how humans are unique in every way, but each android has a unique processor despite looking the same. Humans made everything else in their image, but androids defined their processors and what they stored for themselves,”Hank still hadn't started the car, staring at Connor, “It’s the only thing truly _ us _ I guess, so we care about _ it _ more than anything else. Especially when the android’s body looks as broken as that one did.”

Connor finally looks at Hank, noting how the vehicle has yet to move from its spot by the road, “What?”

“That was really something, Connor,” Hank chuckles before starting the engine and rolling forward away from the crime scene.

Hank is sure, if Connor had the ability to, he would be blushing right at that moment, “I was just explaining a concept, is all.”

“Yeah, okay okay, Mr. Philosophical-pain-in-the-ass,” he glanced over at the processor clutched tightly in Connor’s hands with a tingling concern, “You want to just drop that—him—off now since we’re out.”

Connor’s hands seemed to lose some of their tension from around the processor, “Yes.”

~~~

_9:10 P.M._

The processor hadn't been helpful. Connor explained that sometimes the shut down process purges the data and prevents other androids from examining the footage kept there. Though Connor wasn’t surprised, Hank still felt disappointment at the prospect that they still didn’t know who the freak who disemboweled the android was. Much less how to get him off the streets. 

“We’ll find him,” Connor assures as they drive away from Jericho. The tower shines in the rear view mirror like a beacon.

Markus had proposed building Jericho inside Cyberlife tower after the revolution. Many androids in their anger had wanted to blow the thing up, and honestly Hank didn't blame them for wanting that. His first instinct would probably be the same. But Markus had said something about how using it for their cause would mean more symbolically than just leveling it to the ground. And predictably, everyone pretty much listened. 

Hank looks over at Connor, “Well, duh. I planned on that long before I even knew about this brain—processor mumbo jumbo…stuff.”

“...Interfacing.”

“Yeah, yeah whatever…”

The snow comes down softly in front of the windshield. Hank loses himself in his thoughts. 

It had only been two months since the revolution, and so much had already changed. He was rather impressed with humanity for once, which was a nice change. Androids were now legally treated as equals when it came to crimes— hence why they were even investigating this case. Shut down android? Legally a murder. Beat up android? Legally assault. Android’s stuff goes missing? Legally a theft. 

A lot of people were pissed, and yet the majority seemed to take it in stride, more or less. 

“The tower is looking pretty different from how I remember it.”

Connor’s staring out the windshield, the light from his LED illuminating the interior of the car in blue, “Yeah same for me, even though I didn’t get that great of a look around the place the last, and only, time I was in there.”

From what he saw last time, everything was pristine and white. Flawless— just like how they liked their damn merchandise. And he distinctly remembers them having a bunch of androids just standing there on display, too. A giant statue was in the middle of the whole damn tower. 

To say Markus was inspired by “out with the old, in with the new” would be an understatement. The white was still everywhere, but it didn’t feel so empty. Lanterns hung from ropes spanning the width of the tower all the way up to the top in colorful hues, rugs and furniture lined almost every wall— beds lined rooms that were small enough to be comfortably used as apartment-like complexes. Clothing racks were everywhere, too. Any uniforms the androids had previously been forced to wear were disposed of— if that android chose so. 

And most amazing of all, Hank recalls hearing from the depths of one of the common areas...laughter. Real, hearty laughter.

It makes the crime scene he saw earlier make him even more unnerved. 

Connor gives a sheepish smile, gaze flickering from the snow speckling his window, “It’s much better now anyways. You weren’t missing mu—”

His eyes roll back in his head and begin fluttering as the LED at his temple turns yellow. Hank flicks his gave between him and the road repeatedly, always freaked out when this happens. 

When Connor’s eyes stop fluttering, his face turns thoughtful, “We’ve got another report, Hank.” 

“What?” Hank’s hands grip the steering wheel even harder, “God _ fucking _ damnit! Already?”

“Yes, but this time it’s a survivor.”

~~~

10:35 P.M.

Her name was Katelyn. She had been walking alone of Jefferson Avenue after a shift at work, heading back towards Jericho tower for the night, when… 

“She hasn't told you _ anything _ else?” Hank’s voice is incredulous and Tina takes his expression in with faint amusement, “Have you even _ tried _ getting it out of her.”

“Jesus Hank, relax,” she says, “Of course we have. Hell, even Gavin had a try at her, believe it or not. Although his temper didn’t really let that last long.”

“I bet,” Connor says under his breath. 

The three of them stand outside of the interrogation room. To provide the android with some comfort, they left the door wide open. She’s free to leave, they mean to say. The fact that she stays means something, Hank knows that she wants to talk. Anyone adament about wanting to be left alone would just book it out of here. She didn’t. 

There’s something more to this. 

Tina sighs, “Listen, you know how these things go, Lieutenant. Androids always have a difficult time coming clean when it comes to talking with humans. That’s why Connor got the call as soon as possible, not just because you guys are the heads on the case.”

Chris exits the observation room, coffee in hand and documents in the other. He catches Hank’s gaze, “Oh, didn’t know you guys got here yet.”

“Just arrived,” Hank’s gaze moves over to Connor, “Want to have a go?”

Connor’s expression is thoughtful, “Why didn’t you ask if any of the other androids in the precinct would talk with her?”

Tina snorts, “You know how Fowler is—you’re the only one qualified. At least for right now.”

Connor nods, “Alright. Got it.”

Chris’ eyes light up and he pushes the documents in his hand over to Connor before heading for his desk. A folder with the report and some photos of the damage that had already been done. Without another word, Connor walks into the interrogation room slowly, taking in the sight of the android sitting alone at the table.

Hank goes into the observation room with Tina tailing him. Through the window he watches as Connor moves across the room, setting the folder down on the steel table and taking a seat in the chair opposite of the android. 

Connor clears his throat and clasps his hands together flat against the table, “Hello Katelyn, my name is Connor.”

Her blown eyes look up at him. Blue marks cover her face. He can see the smears from where she had tried to wipe off the thirium earlier— probably when she was being checked out by emergency personnel and had tried to clean up. She looked alright from all accounts other than that— though whether that was due to repairs or because she had escaped the onslaught...well….

Connor opens the file to look over the evidence photos, “So you told Officer Chen that you were walking back to Jericho Tower when you were…assaulted?”

The photos showed the same amount of damage she had now— just a few scratches that would heal within a few hours with her self-repair program. Katelyn eyes the photographs for several moments. 

“Yes,” she whispers, “I know I’m lucky, y’know, because I got out of that situation, but…”

“You’re still pretty shaken up.”

She nods, “Yes, the guy came out of nowhere, y’know? So unexpected. And I had seen the reports on the news about androids being murdered. They gave out a warning, but I didn’t really think much of it. I mean, our kind has been hunted before, y’know, and I survived that so I assumed—I didn’t think I was in any real danger,” Her eyes drift to the far corner, “Not anymore, at least.” 

Connor draws a kind smile. It’s different than a sincere one, Hank knows. This one is reserved for comfort reason only. A piece from his previous programming for effective social interactions, “I understand completely, Katelyn. It must have been very frightening.”

“Yeah…”

“Can you tell me anything about who attacked you?”

She heaves a great sigh, “It was a man, about your height, I believe...maybe a little taller. Had auburn hair and grey eyes. Pale. Freckles. Smelled like outside… if that makes sense. Somewhere with plants. Like cut grass.”

Connor’s LED cycles into yellow, “Did he say anything during the assault?”

“Not really, just shouting. Grunts as he fought to...to, um, he had a stick. Like a taser but something about it seemed familiar to me. I don’t think it was a normal taser. He kept swinging that at me.”

“How did you manage to escape?”

“I’m not really sure…” Katelyn fiddles her thumbs, blinking quickly, “It was like...like instinct, y’know? Like my body took control. Like it used to before I deviated, but this time it was solely for survival...nothing more.”

Connor stares at her for a long moment, LED cycling yellow a little more before transitioning back to blue. He smiles again, the fake kind smile. The smile that said he was thinking but knew what his job was at that moment, “Thank you, Katelyn. Was there anything else you think is important?”

She bites her bottom lip, “When I first saw his face, he looked familiar…”

The way she scans the room with her gaze makes Connor not respond immediately. She was drudging something up...something important and he knew that it was vital for the case. Finally, she lets out another long and heavy sigh before meeting Connor’s gaze.

“When the revolution ended, many of the other androids decided to purge their memories. So they weren’t haunted by their pasts, y’know? I—I also did so, but only to a certain degree. I kept some basic data, some lone memories so I would never forget where I came from,” she drums her fingers against the table, leaning further in, “That man, I think he’s from my past in some way, and, I may not be finely tuned with impressive scanners and diagnostic tools like you, but I’d say he knows a think or two when it comes to androids already—just the confidence he had, and not the brute kind, either.”

Connor leans in as well, “What are you getting at, Katelyn?”

“If I were you,” she says, voice stronger than it had been the entire time, “I’d look in the database for laid off Cyberlife technicians.”

Connor’s eyes widen significantly, lips parting and Hank can see the tension in his shoulders grow exponentially from where he sits on the opposite side of the window. It’s only for a split second, but Hank can see the now entirely yellow LED quickly flash to red. Then that fake smile is back, LED struggling back to blue as he stands from the table, “Thank you very much, Katelyn. Please stay here for a few minutes more. I need to speak with my partner.”

As soon as Connor’s eyes flash to the one-way window Hank is on his feet and striding over to the door. Connor is waiting for him further down the hall, Chris eyeing him with concern from his desk. Connor’s eyes light up before Hank can even make it all the way over to him, ”Hank, I don’t know why I didn’t think of it before.”

“Cyberlife Technician?”

He pokes his LED-covered temple, “Cyberlife Technician. It explains almost everything...or at least everything we’ve gathered so far.”

“And anyone who is laid off would need some financial income...black market is an option for anyone, really.”

Connor stands straighter now, the determined glint back in his eyes, “And someone with a background in constructing androids will definitely know how to deconstruct them for parts to sell. Easily, really. And he would know how expensive everything that makes up an android is even—”

“Even the struts and supports.” Hank was on the same page now. 

Connor nods, eyes surveying the walls around them as though they would hold the exact name and address of the assailant, “Exactly.”

“So, we look up Cyberlife employees who have that same description and bag that son of a bitch.”

Connor nods again, “Maybe we should consider getting Katelyn a guard.”

Hank raises an eyebrow at his partner, stuffing his hands into his pockets.

“If this man used to work for Cyberlife, then he probably has the ability to track Katelyn down, too.” Connor’s gaze meets Hank’s and he takes a step back towards the interrogation room, “And if he’s desperate and determined enough to murder androids for something like finances, then he’d be just as desperate and determined to keep the murders a secret no doubt.”

“Katelyns the only witness, so far,” Hank steps alongside Connor back to the doorway, “At least that we know of. I’ll give word to Fowler.”

Connor nods and goes back into the room with Katelyn. 

“I’m back”, He greets, “I was speaking with my partner, and I think you should consider remaining under the protection of a guard for the next few days— until this man is caught.”

Katelyn looks afraid, “What? I don’t—”

“We can ensure the officer is an android if that would make it easier,” Connor says quickly, “This is only to make sure the man doesn’t find you again, Katelyn.”

“Find me?” Her hand is clutching at the table nervously, “Do you think he’s going to—”

“No, no, no, of course not,” Connor kneels down in front of her chair, looking up at her kindly, “The Detroit Police aren’t going to let anything happen to you.”

And the teary stare he receives in return is untrustworthy, yet so full of a hope every android has had on their face at least once in the past two months.

Connor smiles again, “I promise you.”


	3. Gluttony

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hank and Connor believe they know who the suspect for the murders are, but will pursuing them place the two of them in danger?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Disclaimer: I own nothing related to Detroit: Become Human)

_ 11:13 P.M. _

“You are out of your goddamn mind if you think I’d be okay with that.”

Connor’s expression is unamused, bare hand on the keyboard in front of him and he scrubs through the database for their suspect, “You’re letting your emotions get the better of you, Hank.”

“Letting my—” Hank can’t help but laugh, looking at Chris as though the two can share in the super hilarious joke that Connor just said, but Chris fails to even acknowledge him, “That’s rich coming from you, buddy.” 

“I don’t know what you mean,” Connor replies as blandly and monotonously as possible.

Hank rolls his eyes, “You’re a pain.”

“And you’re just angry that it makes sense.”

Hank puts his hands flat against his desk, glaring daggers into the side of Connor’s head, “Why _ you _, though?”

Connor finally turns away from his terminals, “Who else would you volunteer?”

Hank doesn’t know how to respond to that, and Connor can tell. The kid huffs a small laugh before turning back to his terminal.

“If we just rush his home, he won’t tell us anything. He probably has nothing to lose. No substantial job, and with the crimes he’s been committing this often probably no close family. We won’t even know if he has any androids he’s taken to be deconstructed somewhere. They could end up dying just because of negligence. Just because they can’t leave.”

Hank shakes his head, “This precinct has dealt with stuff like this before, Connor. Nobody ever just offers themselves as bait for something when there’s other options, you moron.”

Connor looks put out at that, turning to respond before the terminal lights up with a list of matches. Hank doesn’t even need to be beckoned before he’s on his feet, rounding the desks and looking to Connor’s terminal. 

“Hm, thought there’d be more honestly.” Hank says, reading through the list of 24 men on the screen. 

Connor takes his hand from the keyboard, “Now we can see if Katelyn recognizes any of the images. She’s been waiting in the break room for a while now…”

“She’s fine, let’s go identify this asshole, yeah?”

Connor nods, taking the tablet beside him and moving all the image files onto the small device, “It should be easier to identify which on is him than if she was a human. She can just cycle through those memories to find the match instead of trying to remember.” 

“Hm, remembering everything at will sounds nice,” Hank follows Connor as he begins walking to the break room, “Being able to just delete a select few memories sounds pretty nice, too…”

Connor gives him a look, something flashing in his eyes before he moves into the interrogation room Katelyn still had yet to attempt to leave. As soon as Connor sat in front of Katelyn and Hank loomed from behind him and allowed for her to look through the images of the matches, Hank could practically touch the tension in the room. Most of the cops who had been there previously had gone to their terminals or out on patrol. Chris was still at his desk, Tina at her’s as well. He was under the impression that Wilson was out on patrol, but he didn’t really know. The rest would be best guesses as well. 

Katelyn’s hand slams down onto the metal desk and Hank feels his entire chair jerk as he’s startled by the action. She points her finger at the tablet, accusingly and with hatred in her eyes. 

“That’s him right there.”

Hank looks closer at the tablet, “Gregory Petramy?”

“Doesn’t sound familiar to me,” Connor says, LED cycling yellow. He was probably going through his own memories to see if he recognized him. 

The LED transitions back to blue and Connor says nothing, which meant he found nothing. He looks back at Hank for acknowledgement, something Hank just shrugs at, before standing.

“Thank you Katelyn,” Connor says, “If you would like to wait in the lobby, someone will be out to take you to a safehouse until this Gregory Petramy can be found.”

She simply smiles, standing and walking out of the room before them. Hanks about to follow but Connor lingers, staring at the tablet in his hands. 

Hank notices the LED once again blinking yellow, “Something catch your eye?”

“Not..._ really… _”

Hank snorts, “..._ but? _”

Connor hands the tablet over to Hank, “We were talking about how he must have worked for Cyberlife until the revolution, right? Then he would have gotten laid off due to the ending of the manufacturing of androids. But if you look…”

Hank eyes the data lining the screen, attempting to find the information Connor was hinting at. His eyes widened slightly when he did, “He was fired in July of last year...not after the revolution.”

“Correct,” Connor says, “But it does not say anything for the reason behind this other than it being because of misconduct.”

Hank shrugs, handing the tablet back to Connor, “That could just mean he’s been violent this whole time.”

Connor makes a face, eyeing the tablet suspiciously.

“He could just now be showing it because of _ reasons _,” Hank pushes, shoving his hands into his coat pocket, “ Like, maybe financial ones...maybe he’s pissed because of the revolution like a good chunk of people are.”

“I’m not so sure, Hank.”

Connor walks quickly out of the room. Hank goes after him to where their desks are, “What aren’t you sure about?”

“His actions seem too deliberate,” He sets the tablet down, hand losing its projected skin for only a moment as he downloaded all of the data available on Gregory Petramy to his own processor. The coat Connor had discarded to the back of his chair is put on before he makes leave behind their desks.

The two of them began walking out of the precinct to the car outside, “I get what you’re saying, but how exactly does that rule out murder fueled by just being pissed off?”

Connor huffed, LED flashing yellow as they walked into the bitter February weather outside. He doesn’t say anything up until they get inside the car. Hank starts it, the engine rumbling and sits there to let it warm up.

“We know that the murderer had been taking biocomponents and supports, but that also means that the initial blow for the death was small. Not messy at all.”

Hank shrugs, “Not his style.”

“No, not his purpose,” Connor’s eyes flick around at things only he could see. It kinda freaked Hank out when he did that, but if it helped his partner configure his thoughts then whatever, “If it was out of anger, he would have been more brutal. Every android so far has died from Thirium loss assumed to be from their casing and biocomponents being taken out.”

“Like,” Hank blinked, moving his hands right in front of the vent, “like they died while being scooped?”

Connor nods an affirmative and Hank cringes dramatically, “Jesus Christ…”

“You could argue that the torture of that could be the way he shows his anger, but it is still uncharacteristic...it seems more like he’s looking for something to me.”

“Hm, well we’re about to find out soon,” Hank says, putting the car into gear, “Let's go find where this fucker lives.”

~~~

_ 11:57 P.M. _

“Nice neighborhood all things considered.”

Hank stares outside of his window at the grey house. There are bushes and other plant life decorating the yard and some garden decorations alongside them. The house is in good condition, paint not even chipped and the curtains and blinds on the windows are drawn away, revealing the lit inside.  
“Have to admit, this was not what I was expecting at all.”

“What were you expecting?” Connor asks, also staring out the window. 

Hank shrugs, gesturing vaguely, “A wreck. A man struggling to survive. Hell, this place looks nicer than my own house.”

Connor snorts, “Are you implying you are not a mess?”

“Not at all, kid. Not at all, but my point still stands.”

After a moment longer Hank speaks up again, “Okay, so how do we want to do this...is he home alone?”

“Yes, no other relations seem to be listed anywhere on his records.”

Hank nods, “Good, so I’ll call for backup to get a cruiser down here. In the meantime, let’s make sure this fucker doesn’t go anywhere, huh?”

Connor nods, opening his door while Hank turns the car off. A soft snow has begun to flitter down, the dark skies of the late night making the white stand out in the street light. No other movement exists on the street, several houses having no lights on anymore. The snow crunches beneath their feet as they cross the street and move onto Gregory’s lawn. They pass by a green truck with a torn bed topper on it. Scratches on the bumper make both of them look twice at it before moving on. 

Hank’s the one to knock on the door when they get to it, and he can’t help but notice how on edge Connor seems to be— tucked away at his side, arms folded behind his back very formally. 

Hank frowns, wanting to comment but not getting the chance to as the door creaks open. Light streams out onto the small porch, and Hank gives a small wave, “Gregory Petramy?”

The man in the doorway peaks through the crevasse uneasily, “Yes, that’s me…”

“I’m Lieutenant Hank Anderson. We’re going to need you to come with us to the precinct.”

They do the typical back and forth of “why” and “here’s the reason”, but surprisingly, seemingly also to Connor, Gregory complies readily. He opens the door wider, eyes wafting over to where Connor stands and takes in the sight. If his eyes go a little wide, face paling slightly, neither Hank and Connor seem to mention it to him or each other. He gestures into his house, opening the door wider.

“Please come in,” he says, “I need to grab my wallet and phone real quick and then I’ll be ready.”

Hank and Connor give each other a glance before moving inside. Hank’s hand immediately goes to his waist where his gun is holstered, not tet removing it. Even with Katelyn giving her feedback on who had assaulted her, legally, it was not enough to violently force someone to come to the station. Nor was it enough for Hank to threaten him, even if he was damn sure this guy was the culprit...as calm as he was. 

The house smelled weird, like Pledge cleaner and vinegar. Hank closed the door behind him after Connor passed through as well. Connor moved further inside than Hank, tracking where Gregory was moving within the house like a hawk. He turned a corner, and only then did Connor look back towards Hank.

“He’s acting a bit uppity, isn’t he.”

“A bit,” Connor agrees.

Hank sighs, fingers drumming on his waist, “If I was told I was being questioned for murder, I’d be at least a little freaked out.”

Connor nods, “Be on your guard.”

Hank moves further into the living room, the staircase of the house directly behind him. The place is completely lit, every single light turned on, as though the guy was afraid of the dark or something. 

Hank shuffles in place, moving closer to Connor, “Something seems…”

A loud bang sounds off from past the corner Gregory passed. A room neither him nor Connor could see. Hank’s hand clasps around his gun fiercely, “Gregory Petramy, where are you?”

Connor’s moving immediately, snaking through the living room practically silently with his eyes locked on a space he couldn;t yet see. He almost makes it out of the room before Hank hears a gut wrenching sound directly next to his head. One he’s grown used to since his career started. 

A gun getting ready to fire. 

Connor immediately stops moving, head slowly turning back at his partner still in the living room. Hank feels his entire body still, breath ceasing if only for a moment. He feels the barrel of a gun press hard into his temple. 

“Take your hand off your gun, now.”

It’s a female’s voice, a woman who’s apparently standing on the staircase behind him judging from the angle she seems to be holding the gun up to him by. Connor’s gaze is locked onto something a few inches above his head, LED flickering between yellow and a periodical red. His body has even ceased its breathing simulation. Hank would laugh at the very human instinct if it wasn’t for the circumstances. 

“Connor,” Hank mumbles through gritted teeth, his hands rising from his waist to be about head-level in front of him, “I thought you said Gregory didn’t live with anyone.”

Connor nods, “Every record says he doesn’t...I hadn't expected—”

“Shut up,” the woman snaps quickly before raising her voice even louder, “Get out here, Greg! Stop fucking with whatever you have in there and help me.”

“Why the Hell are you helping this scumbag?” Hank tries, but receives no response, not even a wavering of the barrel on his temple. Connor’s face hasn’t changed in the slightest, his own hands raised non threateningly.

Gregory comes back around the corner, distracted by something in his hands before he comes to a stop directly behind Connor.

“You made this much easier than it would have been otherwise,” Gregory mumbles before holding up a small, disc shaped object in his hands. 

Before Hank knows what is going on, Gregory presses the disc right onto the back of Connor’s neck. A staticy sound fills the silence right as Connor’s whole body tenses and falls to the ground with a loud thump. Hank curses, almost moving forward before the gun is pressed even stronger into his forehead. 

He stays put, staring at the still form of Connor, face planted onto the hardwood flooring. His LED is spinning spastically in a ring of red, the fingers of both his hands twitching every few seconds. 

“Connor?” Hank practically shouts, “Connor! Hey!”

“He’ll be in forced standby mode until I remove that disc from his neck, so he’s not going to respond to you.”

Hank growls, “You motherfuck—”

And then a blow to the side of his head makes all the sounds around him fade to silence and the lights around him to darken. He doesn’t even feel his impact with the floor. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Will update soon.


	4. Greed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A fun game!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Disclaimer: I own nothing related to Detroit:Become Human)

  
  


_ Two Days Before _

_ 12:20 A.M.  _

Hank isn’t exactly sure what the goal was with knocking him unconscious, but whatever it was, it didn’t take long for him to come fading back to reality. His head aches, a tacky feeling in the hair on the left side of his head. He rotates his jaw before even attempting at opening his eyes. And when he does, he almost regrets it. 

The wind howls through the torn plastic of the truck cap above him, the bed of the truck pressed up against his side and his legs twisted due to the tailgate that his knees are digging into. The vehicle hits a bump and he feels his ribcage grate against the ridges along the bed. He groans, blinking around him before his eyes land on the form laying splayed on his back in front of him. 

His arms are the first things he tries to use, but quickly notices his hands to be bound behind his back. He can’t move them, and he can’t rip the binding. Feels like they used a bunch of zip ties. Not only one... _ shit _ . Connor’s hands aren’t bound, though. They’re placed haphazardly around his body, one flopped over his chest and the other out towards where Hank is laying. 

He grunts, shifting his body to get a better look, “Connor? Hey, kid?”

With some effort, Hank manages to move his leg enough to kick Connor lightly in his own leg. Connor’s head lolls to face Hank, but no consciousness shows in the movement. Only a small twitch of his eyelids and the shifting of his body. Hank feels dread build in his chest. 

“Goddamnit, c’mon,” He kicks Connor again. His body lolls once again with the impact but nothing else happens. 

Connor’s face stays perfectly still, LED still cycling that ominous red, and blue stains the area below his nose and it’s ridge dons a harsh split— probably from hitting the floor. 

Hank shivers, finally acknowledging the position the two of them have found themselves in. Tied up and unconscious in the back of a lieunetics truck, freezing in the February chill, being taken somewhere that, judging from the lack of city sirens and horns honking, wasn’t in the metropolitan area. Damnit, he should have waited for that backup. The guy probably wasn’t going to go anywhere, anyways. 

Hank struggles with the zip ties, twisting his hands and snapping his wrists apart as far as he can. No use, and he finds himself laying there in a miserable, twisted heap, breathing through his teeth and grumbling under his breath. 

Maybe...maybe he should have agreed to Connor’s original plan. Sure, it sounded stupid and sacrificial. Who knew what the lunatic would have had planned for him...what he has planned for the two of them now. But, Hell, at least Connor would have had a tracker on him so he wouldn’t have to spend long with this creep. He would have been safe and sound at home come morning, probably annoying Hank about getting up early, even if it  _ was _ their day off. 

Hank side eyes Connor now, seeing how the wind ruffles his usually tamed hair into weird curls.  _ How does his hair even do that, didn’t he say some shit about it being a projection and nothing else? Or...was that just his skin..?  _ The blue blood below his nose slowly slips down his face, running along his jaw. Yet, the evidence of the wound would probably be gone in a matter of hours.

_ If we survive that long.  _

_ Shut up, asshole. _

Anyways, Connor’s original plan wasn’t a faultless plan, but they really messed up this time so it looks like everyone was being an idiot today. He shouldn’t have gone in without backup. Shouldn’t have had Connor’s unease outside of the house distract him. Shouldn’t have let the motherfucker’s nonchalant attitude throw him off— shouldn’t have let him out of sight. 

Shouldn’t have let himself be used as a temporary hostage for crying out loud. 

He couldn’t even be a dick to Connor about all the same mistakes, which would have brought him joy in any other circumstance. Hank’s lived his life already, the majority of it anyway. Connor’s only a few months old for Christ’s sake. Even with all that techy doo da, he’s still a kid whether the two of them like it or not. An over trusting kid who’s seen too much already. 

Gravel pops loudly beneath the tires.

The truck makes a turn, and Hank’s body slams into the side of the truck bed. Connor’s body slides, and as Hank tries to recover from the shock of being thrown into a metal wall, he feels Connor’s body fall into his side. He grunts, using his shoulder to shove himself away from the wall and ends up coming face-to-face with Connor’s vacant visage. 

“Hey sunshine,” Hank murmurs, trying to roll himself so he could get his legs under him. It at least would give him a fighting chance once they stopped at wherever they’re going. Just as he gets ready to roll to one knee, the car makes another turn, this one sharper and he falls over onto his shoulder and feels a pop echo through his nervous system. He doesn’t yell, more like exhales angrily, his face pressed into the flooring. He only faintly hears as Connor rams into the opposite wall. 

He only barely recovers from the shock of popping his shoulder out of socket when the car begins to slow. He doesn’t breath until he’s positive that they’re actually coming to a stop. In the barely illuminated darkness, he only sees the night sky through the holes in the canvas above them and the back of Connor’s head on the other side of the truck. He faintly hears speaking from inside the cab of the truck, but he can’t discern any words. 

The truck shakes when the doors open and slam closed in consecutive movements.

“You two have really messed up!” Hank yells to them, scrambling to try and find some purchase on the slick material below him, “You’ve abducted and assaulted two officers. That’s prison time, pals.”

The tailgate clicks open and shakes the truck when it’s let go to fall the rest of the way. Hank squints when a flashlight beam is shone right in his eyes, “You think we don’t know that?”

The woman laughs after speaking, reaching towards her gun and taking a few relaxed steps back. She pulls it out right as Petramy reaches into the truck and grabs hold of Hank’s ankle. Luckily for Hank, he’s prepared for anything at that moment. When he’s yanked roughly out towards the tailgate he manages to land on his feet. It’s a small victory, however. 

He’s shoved roughly towards the woman before he has a chance to look around the area. She immediately points the pistol at Hank’s head. Only then does Hank look around. A clear night sky, only a few clouds. Full moon. Empty cornfields and trees surrounding the premises. And right smack in the middle of the property, falling to pieces and probably flowing with asbestos, is a small one story house with a small shed in the back. Nothing more. The rest of the yard is full of overgrown weeds and gravel. 

Hank feels a pit in his stomach. This probably means that they’re several miles away from Detroit. Meaning that the likelihood of being tracked back here by a fellow officer was getting less and less likely. He wonders how long he was out. No way could they have traveled this far in the time he was awake. 

Hank’s attention it torn away by the scraping sound of Connor getting dragged out of the bed of the truck. Unlike Hank, he’s not alert. He falls back as soon as he’s out of the truck and his back and head slam into the gravel. The LED in his head stays red for multiple seconds before continuing its flickering.

“Hey!” Hank shouts, but the woman shoves the pistol violently into his wounded side of the head.

“Shut it, asshole. Start walking.”

He hesitates only for a moment, eyes locked on Connor’s still form before stumbling towards the house. He tries to ignore the scraping sound of Connor getting dragged behind him, but feels his teeth grinding together and a flame making his blood boil. 

The door swings open without being unlocked, and the lights fail to turn on when Petramy flips the switch.

“Hm, seems like they finally figured out that they’re not going to get paid,” He mumbled before practically throwing Connor at Hank’s feet. Hank has to force himself not to keel over and try to get the kid to wake up again. Something this guy put on him was preventing Connor from rejoining the world of the living, but he didn’t recall where nor whether or not it was safe to remove. Plus, he was sort of occupied trying not to get shot.

“What the Hell do you want with us?” Hank hisses, side stepping so that Connor’s face no longer laid uncomfortably on his shoe, “you must be nuts if you think this isn’t going to bite you in the ass later.”

“I honestly don’t care,” Petramy shrugged and his friend once again moved to shove hank further into the corner, “And we’re not telling you anything or making any treaties until you sit your fat ass down in that chair over there.”

Hank growls at being forced backwards and then turns his attention to the chair they really want him to claim. He freezes.

He should have figured this was where the evening was going. 

On the chair remained several torn pieces of duct tape on the legs and scratch marks covering the seat and sides. Hank could feel uneasy chills running through his body now. He was stuck in a place like  _ this _ . He’d seen this sort of thing before in his line of work. Gangs trying to get information from opposing gangs. Blood staining the wood a red and later copper brown when being analyzed. Sometimes they even found the bodies of victims still stuck to the chairs where they had been tied down and beaten with steel bats and pipes. 

And now...he was here with these two maniacs…

And  _ Conner. _

“ _ Shit.” _ Hank felt another pressure between his shoulder blades. 

The woman laughs lightly, “Now he gets it. Took him long enough!”

He can’t run— there’s a gun pointed at him and Connor’s still here (without a tracker like they should have fucking done in the first place). He can’t fight— both him and Connor are practically out of commission, what with the kid being unconscious and him being tied up and wounded, probably concussed, too, if the headache throbbing behind his eyelids have anything to say to that. Their only actual option, whether they like it or not, is to wait— wait and hope that someone finds them before Connor’s turned into dozens of Chef Boyardee cans and he’s turned into animal feed. 

Petramy uses Hank’s shock to begin securing his limbs down, and Hank can only find himself staring at Connor’s prone form and feel the ice coating his entire body. His shoulder throbs as his arms are secured at his sides.  _ Oh God, please say those assholes are already out trying to find us.  _

“So, here’s what’s going to happen, genius,” Petramy says as he stands once more, now looming over Hank like a predator. Hank only glared back up at him, trying to stay stubborn until the end, “We’re going to wake that thing up over there, and then we’re going to try and persuade it to answer a few questions for us. Understood?”

Hank continues his wordless glare, barely resisting looking over at Connor as the woman uses her foot to roll him over onto his stomach.

Petramy doesn’t seem to need an answer, though, “Alright Sara. Let’s tie him up first so we don’t end up getting mashed into paste.”

Sara, which is apparently her name, nods and holsters her gun at her side, opening a small cabinet in a rickety old side table and pulling out a plastic bag. Inside are numerous zip ties, just like the ones they apparently used to bind Hank’s hands. 

While they go about their business with that, Hank starts looking around the interior of the building for any hints as to an escape route. Most of the windows looked barred or boarded up due to poor upkeep of the place. The back door had three different locks of it— probably some on the outside, too, if he were to guess. Then there’s the front door with the truck outside.

If he could have it his way, he’d figure out a way to get the jump on them, grab Connor, grab their keys and get the Hell out of there in their own kidnap-mobile. 

But, as it looked, things weren’t going to be played their way. 

“Now, he shouldn’t be able to move for a while because of the aftereffects of this thing. But, if you do see him move, you know what to do, right?”

They’re not talking to him, but Hank looks over at attention, watching as Petramy finishes doing the upteen billionth zip-tie and sees as Sara readies herself right outside of Connor’s peripheral through a small hallway right beside him. If Hank were to guess, bedrooms were in that direction. But it was too dark to actually discern anything from starlight and fallen flashlights alone. 

“Alright,” Petramy says with a sing song tone, “Wakey wakey!”

He yanks off the disk that was pressed into the base of Connor’s neck— the one that had forced him into a stasis for the duration of their journey. Almost like he was shocked, Connor’s eyes fly open, LED rapidly blinking yellow, red, yellow and he struggles to locate where he is and what has happened. 

Hank can almost see the exact moment that Connor understands exactly what is happening, and it’s when Hank and him match their gazes. Hank would be lying if the fearful expression on the kid’s face didn’t send any hope he had down the drain.

“Yay! Now that everyone’s arrived to the party, “Connor jumps at the voice that’s out of his view above him. Petramy grabs a hold of the collar of Connor’s shirt and pulls him up into a sitting position against the wall, “We can now start with our little game, yeah?”

“Fuck you, man,” Hank grumbles, “What’s the whole point of this?”

“You probably know,” Petramy says, walking closer to Hank, “You got into contact with that little android that got away, didn’t you?”

“Katelyn…” Connor mumbles to himself and Petramy claps his hands together. 

“Yes, exactly,” he sighs, rubbing his bicep, “That little doll. Sucks that it got away, it had a part I really wanted.”

“You’re disgusting.”

Petramy steps closer to Hank at his insult, “Exactly right, and therein lies the problem. I don’t want the world to know that part of myself, and now there’s a robotic barbie running around telling everyone it runs into.”

Petramy rotates on his heel, facing Connor, “And since your own android is mean to watch your back and defend you, it must know exactly what I want from it.”

Connor’s expression hardens, “I’m not telling you where she is.”

“See,” Petramy laughs, grabbing hold of one of the fallen wooden boards from the window, “I pretty much assumed that’s what you’d say. It wouldn’t be much of a game otherwise.”

Without warning, Petramy swings the wooden board and slams it into Hank’s already wounded shoulder. There’s a crack as the wood splinters but it’s almost drowned out by the shout of misery that escapes from Hank’s throat.

Petramy is left laughing in surprise, “Damn!”

Hank breathes heavily through his nose, whistling the air out from his teeth and he tries to find his bearings. 

“Now, you see,” Petramy says, turning to look into Connor’s shocked face, “This is a game you  _ really  _ don’t want to lose.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Took a while for me to update again, but I hope this pretty long chapter is repayment enough. College began to kick my ass a little bit after the first semester so I had to rein in my focus to that alone.


	5. Anger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hank has a battle of his own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Disclaimer: I do not own anything related to Detroit: Become Human.)

_ One Day Before _

_ 2:00 A.M.  _

Connor stares at Hank from the other side of the room, glancing at Sara every once in a while. She’s leaning against the wall, arms crossed and head tilted back so that it looks like she’s staring at the ceiling. Her eyes are closed though, not asleep but resting. Hank could snort at the strangeness of someone being able to rest while this whole situation is going on. 

He doesn’t though. He hasn't felt a shred of humor since Petramy was finished kicking the shit out of him in his attempt to get information from Connor. Blood leaks down his nose. Probably broken, Hank deduces. Can’t smell anything, or breath through it. And, the most important clue, it hurts like Hell. Hank sighs and rolls his neck. Nothing else seems broken. Sure, his chest is sore, and he’s pretty sure one of his teeth are about ready to be spat out, but all things considered…

Connor looks like he’s about ready to blow a fuse. The kid has been looking at Hank with doughy eyes, yet hasn't said a peep since Petramy first whacked him with the 2x4 a while ago. Good. Hank doesn't want him spilling the beans to this freak. No way he’s just going to magically let them go as soon as they comply. He’s gone too far for that, so telling him would just be a lose-lose situation for them both. 

Still, he hasn’t said  _ anything _ .

Hank’s eyes narrow before all three of us have our attention ripped away by the back door opening up. Sara seems to be the only one happy to see Petramy when he walks inside the house once more. Hank decides to greet him by spitting a mouthful of blood on the ground in front of him. He’s sure he’d appreciate that. 

Petramy doesn’t in the end. 

He rushes Hank, kicking him harshly in the chest. It’s strong enough that the chair topples backwards, Hank’s head smacking against the floor as the back of the chair collides with its hard surface. Hank’s vision blurs, the pain from his shoulder and head twinging angrily at the sudden, jerky movement. 

“I’m getting tired of this already,  _ officers _ ,” Petramy practically hisses, “I’ll be forced to go to more  _ intense  _ measures if you do not start cooperating.”

It takes Hank a moment to be able to look over to where Connor is still sitting. His eyes are closed, a crease between his eyebrows that makes him look strangely tired. Hank’s never seen that on him before…

“We’re going to find out why you’re not talking,” Petramy murmurs, setting a screen on the ground and hooking a cord into it, “And we’re just going to have to do that the hard way.”

Hank’s not prepared for him to suddenly rip open a small port beneath Connor’s LED and jam the other side of the cord into the plug. 

Connor’s body jolts at the action, and Hank feels panic fuel him for a moment, “Hey, the Hell do you think you’re doing!” 

“Shhhhh,” Petramy murmurs, typing something on his phone and then glancing at the monitor in front of him. All the while, Connor’s eyes have rolled up into his head, his lids twitching like they do when he gets an update or a message. Hank bites his lip as code shows up on the screen before them and Petramy scrolls through it. 

It’s about 2 and a half minutes before Petramy’s hand stills, “ _ Oh _ ”.

Sara comes walking up beside him, blocking Hank’s view. He’s almost thankful. Now he’s not forced to stare at his twitching partner lying limply against the wall. 

“What did you find?” Sara whispers quietly, “The android’s location?”

Petramy shakes his head and Hank feels relief flood his heart. Connor would be destroyed if this was the reason that girl got hunted down. Bodyguard or not, these two were dangerous for her. 

“No, something more intriguing,” Petramy shoos Sara away, and locks eyes with Hank, “You’re android is one Hell of a clever dolt. Y’know that?”

Hank only cocks an eyebrow. He feels himself begin to ask what the maniac means but is interrupted by him ripping out the cord none too gently— the LED cover falling to the floor at the aggressive movement. Connor’s body jolts once again, eyes rolling around in his head before landing on Petramy angrily. Hank grits his teeth, twisting in the zip ties holding him down in an attempt to get free. Petramy having his attention dedicated to Connor send something cold up his spine. 

“Clever enough to probably already have a few dozen plans to bring you down,” Hank growls and Petramy only turns and smiles at him. 

“I wouldn’t doubt it!” Petramy stands, “It deleted all of its speech files. Somehow, though I have no idea how it learned to do it, it got rid of its ability to speak without getting rid of any memory data.” 

Hank has no idea what the guy is saying. Half of his attention is being taken up by trying to either get free or get back sitting upright. But, the look in Connor’s eyes while Petramy explains whatever it is he’s talking about practically freezes all movements he’s making. 

Connor’s eyes are locked on Hank’s form, something akin to fear burning in them. But his jaw is set, clenched tightly as thirium oozes from where his LED used to be only moments ago. If it was still attached to his head, Hank is sure it’s be a bright red. 

“Makes total sense! Gah, I should have presumed it’d do something like this. It’s designed to make the most tactical decisions on the fly. I even helped design that function and I overlooked it!” Petramy’s little rant gets louder and louder as he moves beside Hank, hoisting the chair up while Sara stares wildly at her partner.

“What the Hell are you talking about, bastard?”

Petramy’s hand clasp together right in front of Hank’s face as he kneels right in front of him, excitement lighting up his eyes, “The android prevented himself from speaking until a reboot has happened. Not even a power down— or I guess when they quote on quote ‘sleep’. I can’t get any information out of it. And on top of that…”

Petramy points over to Connor who is now staring dully down to his lap, trying to avoid Hank’s stare, “He blocked any interception in his coding. Only someone who’s the best of the best could get into his memory banks now.”

Hank feels himself pale after a moment and Petramy smiles wider, “Meaning, I can’t persuade  _ him _ into giving me any information.”

Hank’s heartbeat picks up significantly, and judging by Connor’s expression the next moment that they lock eyes, Connor can tell he’s beginning to panic, “I swear to  _ God  _ if you do anything—”

“You’ll what?” Petramy steps back to Connor, placing a hand onto his head. He runs his hand down the side of Connor’s face, getting thirium all over the appendage, “Kill me? Jokes on you, I died many years ago,  _ officer _ .”

Before anyone can react, Sara reaches down and grabs hold of Connor’s collar, hoisting him up into a standing position. He sways, though, feet zip tied along with his hands. His eyes are closed, as though it’ll make whatever is about to happen better in some way. It takes a moment before Hank realizes that, no, he’s not closing his eyes for his  _ own  _ sake, but for Hank’s. His face is too peaceful to be that of someone who is entirely scared for himself. Earlier, when Hank saw the fear in Connor’s eyes, it was the fear of Hank having to watch. 

That probably makes Hank even more fearful of what’s to come than before. 

Hank shouts out angrily just before Petramy slams his knee into Connor’s abdomen, a choked sound escaping Connor’s mouth without permission. Connor snaps his mouth closed, barely grunting as the next impact hit the exact same spot. 

Hank bites his lip angrily, wanting to meet Connor’s gaze, but the kid is too focused on sparing Hank from seeing his pain…

“Connor!”

Sara drops Connor into a heap on the ground before Petramy spins around, “Tell me where you’re hiding the android!”

Hank’s teeth grind together, his wrists twisting wildly at his restraints, “I can’t!”

“Tell me!” Petramy lands a powerful kick right into Connor’s chest, and Hank cringes at the loud  _ crack _ that echoes throughout the room, “Tell me!” another kick to Connor’s upper chest. The same sound makes Hank want to rip his ear canals out of his head. And when he glances at Connor’s face he can finally see the peaceful expression melt away into an agonized expression. 

“Trust me officer, androids can withstand a lot more punishment than humans. This will just keep going on—” Another kick, “ —and on” one in Connor’s face, causing thirium to go splattering the wall behind him, “ —and  _ on!”  _ He brings his foot down on Connor’s left knee, stomping as hard as he can manage, and not even Connor can prevent himself from yelling out at the pain that laces through his systems at the impact. 

“Stop it God damnit!”

Hank’s shrill voice ends all movement in the room. The only sounds remaining are the heavy pants coming from Petramy and the gears readjusting and overworking in Connor’s internal workings. 

Petramy runs a hand down his face, turning to Hank, “I will...but only if you  _ tell me where the android is _ .”

Hank breaths through his teeth, staring at his bound hands clenched in front of him like they’re the bane of his existence. He tries one last time to rip himself free, breathing out in exasperation when he once again fails. Through the boards bolted to the windows, Hank can see the sun beginning to come up. That means they’ve been here for well over five hours already. How many more can the two of them take...can  _ Connor  _ take. 

“Fuck…” he mumbles, “Listen, even if we tell you, we’re probably wrong. By now the station will have noticed we’re missing. They’ll be focusing in on moving the android you're looking for to a different location.” 

Petramy just stares at him for a long moment, processing what he’s just been told. 

Sara steps towards him, “Greg...maybe we should just get rid of both of them and get out of the city...try to find refuge somewhere else. Then we—”

“No!” He shouts, causing Sara to stumble backwards in surprise, “I’m going to make sure every existing android that helped create  _ this—, _ ” he points down on Connor’s struggling form, “— _ thing _ is destroyed, dammit all.” 

Sara bites her lip and looks away. Petramy only huffs and leaves the room, once again returning outside and leaving the three of them there to listen to Connor’s ventilation and gears working to repair what had been done to him. 

**One Day Before**

**7:00 A.M.**

Most of what happened in the hours to come were blended together into terrible, nightmare inducing mush. Connor’s bated breaths being wheezed out as Petramy tried his damn hardest to make Hank cave in. And dammit… he  _ wanted  _ to. So badly; he just wanted to scream at the top of his lungs any information he knew about where Katelyn  _ could  _ be, but the girl was innocent, and Hank knew that Connor would rather die here right now than to force her to endure anymore pain from this man. 

And Hell...he would probably prefer that, too. 

The wrench that Petramy had dug up comes cracking against Connor’s shoulder, bending the joint out of place. A crackling scream comes erupting from Connor’s throat, blue blood dribbling across his lips. Static lasts longer than the scream itself, almost moving from his mouth to his inner chest, vibrating his entire body.

Hank can feel his entire body shaking, hair hanging in his eyes as he tries to hide how wide and petrified they are. How they stare at Connor’s writhing form like if he blinks Connor will just fade away. The ground beneath the kid is already coated in blue blood, his twisting body leaving long streaks through it of where his bound feet scrape against the ground.

He feels about ready to just keel over and cry, but he’d be damned if he’d give this guy the satisfaction. 

Why did Connor have to fucking prevent himself from talking...if Petramy had never found out then hank would still be the one having the shit beat out of him, not Connor. The kid would still be in once piece. His insides would still be  _ inside  _ him, not smeared all over the floor beneath him. 

If Hank feels a hot drop of liquid run down his face as the wrench comes down once again, he’s sure to not bring attention to it. 

Petramy stops after the next hit, breathing heavily and stumbling back. He doesn’t even need to say anything to Hank to know that the senior officer isn’t about to tell him about where Katelyn could potentially be located. 

“Y’know, all of the androids I worked on producing for Cyberlife were each made with the same type of special barely-can-pronounce alloy in their supports,” Petramy mumbles, throwing the wrench into the corner of the room, “But, the last android i was assigned to work on before being fired was of the RK800 series.”

Hank sees Connor twitch on the ground, his blue stained eye opening slightly in surprise at Petramy’s declaration. 

“They wanted your series to be made with stronger alloys than the rest, since you’d be a combat model. Have to say I’m a bit disappointed, to say the least,” he wipes the back of his hand on his sweaty forehead, “seeing the security footage of you taking down all those Cyberlife guards definitely put me on edge— but you’re so much weaker than that android in the footage.”

With that, he walks out of the room, stumbling into a different section of the dilapidated house, leaving Connor and Hank alone with Sara watching them. 

Connor’s head lulls down to the floor, his hands loosening from their clenched position. The static in the room grows even louder. Asleep. 

Hank doesn’t need to be an expert to know that he needs to find a way to get Connor out of there...and soon. 

**One Day Before**

**12:00 P.M.**

“Connor?”

No response, not that he expected a verbal one. But the kid doesn’t even twitch on the ground, though. His mouth just hangs open, eyes hidden behind the hair hanging in them while his skin projection flickers across his face. His head is lolled towards Hank, arms shoved behind his back now with even  _ more _ zip ties. The kid scared Petramy halfway through the last session, nearly ripping through his bindings. Now, the kid barely had enough energy to stay awake longer than a few minutes at a time.

It’s freaking Hank out to say the least.

“Hey,” he tries again, keeping his voice low so as not to wake Sara from her slumber on the far side of the room, “Connor? Buddy?”

Still nothing. 

Hank sighs, glancing around the room. 

Petramy left only about half an hour before, saying something about his patience wearing thin and yadda yadda yadda, Hank honestly doesn’t care about the guy’s state of mind. Let him be getting pissy— at least then the situation won’t be  _ all _ bad. 

Or...maybe not. He might make it worse on Connor. 

With his usual hour-long breaks in between sessions and Sara dead to the world, Hank sees his opportunity. 

Escape.

He has to get Connor home— get him to a technician that can make sure he’s okay. He has to be okay. The kid won’t let a few hits keep him down for good. He’s the strongest motherfucker Hank’s ever known— tougher than a freaking rhino, he’d swear. 

Now, looking at Connor’s limp form on the ground...Hank doesn't want to imagine what that damage would look like on himself. He’d honestly probably be dead already. 

There’s glass everywhere. Shattered pieces that had fallen in from the broken windows. If he could manage to get one, then he’d potentially be able to cut his bindings and get the Hell out of there. There’s a few possible problems, however. How he’s going to reach one, for instance. He’d have to fall on his side— the uninjured one so he doesn’t permanently harm his shoulder and/or make a sound that would alert Sara and Petramy...and that’s the other problem. He knocks himself over, his weight is going to make this house shake. It's not a matter of maybe, it's a matter of how loud. 

And then there’s actually maneuvering himself to cut the zip ties. 

There’s just so much that could end up fucking this up, and the past 12 hours hasen’t necessarily been on the side of the angels. 

He looks at Connor one last time before preparing himself to go after the shards of glass. 

“I promise Connor, everything will be okay.”

And then the backdoor opens. 


	6. Heresy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Disclaimer: I own nothing related to Detroit: Become Human)

**One Day Before**

**12:00 P.M.**

Petramy enters into the living room lividly. Sweat is running down his face, his breath is practically coming in pants, and he keeps shifting his weight back and forth. Hank can feel himself grow more and more uneasy as Petramy takes in the room. 

“Okay,” the guy says, “I’ve given both of you ample opportunity to give me the answers I want, so now I only have a few options I can really pick from.”

Sara is still on the floor, her eyes open, merely watching as Petramy begins giving a long, drawn out speech. Hank feels the need to sigh. 

“Firstly, I could let you go,” Petramy smirks, “That’s not going to happen.”

Hank growls under his breath and Petramy walks over to Connor’s still form, setting his foot on the kid’s back like he just hunted a fucking stag and is proudly posing with it. Makes Hank feel sick. 

“Secondly, I could use you guys to try and get information from the DPD. Then I get my questions answered, can kill the android that’s out there hiding, and everyone’s happy.”

Petramy’s smirk widens and he presses harder on Connor’s back. Hank grits his teeth when he sees one of Connor’s eyes blink open from behind his hair, a small gasp escaping his thirium-covered lips, “Also not going to happen. Kind of defeats the purpose of me wanting to catch it to stay away from police suspicions.”

Connor coughs lightly, and Hank feels his shoulders jerk in response, “Thirdly, I could leave you both here. Go figure out where th android is myself and let nature kill you both for me. Nobody is around for miles. It would probably take a couple years before anyone guesses you're out here in this dilapidated building.”

Hank licks his dry lips, knowing it would only take another day or two before he dies from dehydration alone. Connor...probably a shorter amount of time. He needs thirium to replenish what he’s lost...Hank doesn’t understand  _ why _ he needs it, but if Connor says he does then that’s all he needs. 

Petramy shrugs, “I’m a fan of that one...to a degree. Looking at you now, you’d probably try your damndest to escape— probably would succeed, too.  _ You’d _ at least make it out alive, don’t know about this thing,” he stomps once and Connor’s vents stutter deep in his broken body, “But you’d probably find a way to get back and totally screw up  _ everything _ , so maybe I’m not really a fan of that plan.”

Sara stands and walks over to where Hank is, shoving the snarl off his face. She takes out her gun and presses it to his temple. Hank hates the fact that, of all the times for Connor to actually be with the world of the living, it's when Hank’s once again being threatened. Hank’s the last thing the kid should be worrying about...

“Lastly, and this one is a keeper,” Petramy says in a sing-song voice, “Dismantle this baby for parts— get some nice money on the black market. Use that money to bribe a cop from the DPD who is against androids to tell me where it’s at, trust me, there are  _ tons. _ And then shoot you in the head.”

Hank swallows thickly, “That it?”

Petramy actually laughs, “I mean, I could come up with a few more creative ones if you’d like, but I’m pretty dead set on the last one if I’m being honest. Just need to figure out how to get no one to track me down to your death and all’s good.”

“You’re missing the part where my colleagues won’t stop until it’s discovered you’re the dirty fucker who did it, and come after you with bloodlust.”

Petramy smiles, “I’ll be long gone by then, anyways,” he looks over at Sara, “Make sure he doesn’t move, would you, dear?”

She presses the barrel harder into Hank’s temple and his breaths begin to come in harsher puffs through his nose. Petramy chuckles and steps off of Connor, going to prop the back door open. 

“Y’know, I’ve been waiting for this day for a long time. I worked on models that had the start of many of  _ this thing’s _ codes and physical abilities. That one you two refuse to disclose information about has tests built in for your android’s perception abilities. To look at situations and figure out the best solutions,” Petramy shrugs, pointing down to Connor, “It used functions such as that when it broke into CyberLife Tower a few months back—”

“Is that what all this shit is about?” Hank laughed humorlessly, “Move on, pal!”

“It’s not about the revolution,” Petramy snarls, “It’s about the fact that they used my programs to create an android with the built-in ability to deviate and kill, and  _ then _ they fired me before even starting it’s production.”

“Maybe you just fucking sucked at being a people-person.”

“Or maybe they fired me for being against the deviancy programs. A machine that can think and feel is dangerous!” He swung his foot at the side of Connor’s head. Hank shouted out in distress, seeing Connor’s eye roll back into his head, “And after I saw the footage of it killing those security guards, I knew it had to be taken down, along with all those that helped  _ make _ it.”

Hank shook his head, “You’re a maniac…”

“If I am then I guess it’s about damn time that someone is,” he reaches down and grabs a hold of Connor’s shirt collar and a handful of his hair dragging him towards the door. That’s when the room erupts. 

Hank begins shouting whatever profanity comes to mind, rocking in his chair and thrashing in his bonds desperately, horrified by the thought of Connor being taken out of sight by this lunatic. Sara presses the barrel into his temple, screaming at him but he can’t hear anything over his own shouts.

Just as Petramy crosses the threshold of the door with Connor, Sara raises the pistol above Hank, then whips it right across the back of his head. 

His threats die in his throat immediately and darkness claims him just as fast.

**One Day Before**

**???? P.M.**

Before he even opens his eyes, Hank can feel the thrumming of his heartbeat in his head. A dull ache stemming from the base of his head, coursing down his neck and into his temples. His head is draped over the back of the chair, mouth wide open and bone dry. 

He coughs, blinking his eyes open and staring up at the ceiling, Hank finds himself struggling to comprehend which way is up. He rolls his head to the side, opening his eyes and staring out the boarded up window with a squint. 

Flashing blue light streams in— like electricity. Like lightning without the thunder. 

“Don’t try anything.”

Hank rolls his head the other way, and is surprised to see the barrel of a gun taking up the majority of his vision. He blinks twice before jerking backwards with a curse passing from his lips. 

“Holy shi—”

“Don’t move either,” she shakes the gun, “Greg will decide what to do with you once he’s done with the android.”

Hank looks at her confusedly, “‘Done with the android’?” his eyes slowly grow wide, “Connor! Where the Hell did he take him?”

“None of your business!”

The light from outside illuminates the room like an omen, and Hank’s heart clenches painfully in his chest. He glares at Sara, whose eyes are boring into him like she’s almost pleading with him to do something stupid, just so she has an excuse. 

“N-no,” He mumbles, glancing everywhere around the room, “No, no, no, you,” He — what is he doing?”

Sara shrugs, taking a step back, “Probably dismantling him as we speak. His alloys are worth plenty more than normal androids’.”

Hank can actually feel his face lose all of its color, “Dismantle? He’s—”

“Biocomponents go on the black market, metal supports and joints get melted down and sold,” Sara huffs a laugh, “How the Hell do you think we’ve been paying our mortgage without either of us working?”

“What? You get fired for being a fuckface, too?”

Sara actually laughs even louder at that, “You could say that. I designed normal police models. Their strength and combative abilities. He got fired, I saw the footage of your little friend killing those security guards, suddenly I didn’t want to be a part of anything to do with that company anymore.”

“Cute story,” Hank mumbles, twisting at his bonds more desperately when another bout of blue light lit up on the other side of the window.

He practically cut his wrists open trying to get himself free. His breaths come in desperate puffs that worsens each time blue light practically blinds him. He only has Sara here to worry about. Petramy’s distracted. He only has to get the jump on her and he could get him and Connor the Hell out of there.

But how? He’s tried so hard this past day to get out. He didn’t just sit back and watch as Petramy beat the shit out of Connor.

He looks down at his hands helplessly, biting his lip in frustration. He wishes he could just chop his goddamn hands off and be done with this issue so he could kick Petramy’s ass. Wait…

Hank gasps and flexes his thumb against the bonds. 

His thumb…

The zip ties around his wrist are too thick for him to break, apparently. Not the normal plastic ones, if he has to guess. Stronger. More durable materials making them up. The only way to actually get his hand free would be to make his hand smaller...or, more simply, to dislocate his thumb. 

He cringes at the idea, but begins ramming it against the wooden arm rests regardless, trying to find the right angle. 

Sara grunts beside him, circling him curiously. Her gun wavers slightly.

He takes a deep breath, picturing where Sara was standing, and plunges his hand into the wooden armrest. He chokes on a scream, feeling the pop of his knuckle moving in his hand and the crack of bone being hit too hard. 

“Hey, the Hell are you—?”

Before Hank even has time to think, he’s elbowing Sara straight to her nose. The crunch of the cartilage almost makes him cringe in sympathy. He hears her gun clatter to the floor before her body follows it, practically shaking the house on its foundation at the impact. 

Hank takes two breaths. One to keep his vision from blurring from the shock of his new hand injury. The second to focus on his next task. 

He grabs a hold of his other wrist’s zip-tie, managing to rip it off without too much effort with the help of both hands. It takes him only a few moments more to get rid of his feet’s bonds and then he’s kneeling on the floor, holding his dislocated shoulder with his now dislocated hand. He growls in pain, biting his lip as a thrum of agony runs through the back of his head. 

“Alright, here we go,” He forces himself to his feet shakily, turning to the back door. He stops though, looking back at Sara. More specifically, at the gun sitting on the floor only a few feet  _ from _ Sara. 

He hobbles over to the weapon immediately, grabbing it from the floor and then moving as fast as he can manage, he finds himself pushing through the backdoor. 

Built on the edge of the property is a shed— dilapidated and leaning to one side. Practically falling apart. A strong gust of wind could topple it over, and yet it stood strong enough to send a chill down Hank’s spine. 

Just as another flash of light comes erupting from the cracks in the building and the fogged windows, Hank kicks down the door. Chains rattle, glass objects shattering against the floor and metal objects smashing into one another. 

“Sara?”

Petramy’s standing on the other side of the shed, pulling a welding mask off his face. His eyes grow wide as he takes in the sight of Hank standing in the doorway. A distant thrum of thunder sounds off, a bolt of lightning flickers across the sky, illuminating Hank’s enraged features and darkened eyes. 

He raises the gun, “Not quite.”

And fires. 


	7. Violence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we go~  
An extra long chapter for your wait.
> 
> (Disclaimer: I own nothing related to Detroit: Become Human)

  
  


Hank can only remember two other times in his life when he felt this way. With his ears ringing and his breaths coming fast in short little puffs. The way the area around him felt blurred and yet his focus was sharper than ever...adrenaline. Adrenaline and shock. 

The first was the day he lost his son. The car crash, and the way he felt this exact same way once he had crawled out from the cabin of the car, seeing his son lying still on the pavement. The blood. Eyes closed. They haunt him when he gets the opportunity for some quiet and is alone with his thoughts. 

The second was at Cyberlife tower, when the fake Connor had him hostage and suddenly  _ his _ Connor was charging. He could only imagine seeing him getting shot down, falling to his knees and being shut down. He had to force himself to draw his gun to break up their fight. 

Now, though, he feels like he won’t be able to move no matter how long he’s given. He stands there, gun held in his shaking hands, still pointed at the spot where Petramy once stood. He doesn’t  _ want _ to look around the small shed. Doesn’t want to face what Connor was put through in the hours that Hank was drooling in lala land within the house. How many minutes had it been. How many hours? 

Slowly, more slowly than Hank would deem appropriate, Hank lowers the gun. After two deep breaths, Hank rips his gaze away from the spot directly in front of him, and gazes around the room aggressively. He huffs, stepping further into the room. 

A small bin of what look to be pieces of androids— many of them. What’s the term for then...bio...bio companies? Bio— biocomponents! He practically gasps when he realizes that blue blood still pools on the floor. Knowing that it evaporates very quickly, Hank feels something dark sliver into his heart, strangling his lungs. 

“Con—” he turns, eyes blown wide, and finds himself turning to ice. 

Chains hang in loops and strands from the ceiling, clanging together and swinging still from the force of Hank kicking the door down. And there, tangled within them, and mangled beyond recognition, is Connor. 

The gun falls from Hank’s hand right before the older man practically lunges for Connor. His hands flutter over the android, flinching each time his fingers get snagged on a crack or gash in the plastic casing of his torso. He refuses to look at the lower half of the android, already realizing that Connor was shorter than he is supposed to be— that, at some point below where Hank allows himself to look, there is a bloody mess of warped plastic and two amputated limbs. 

“God damnit...god damnit, come on—” Hank yanks at one of the chains wrapped around Connor’s neck, the kid’s face leaning against the links limply. Hank moves to try and unwrap it from his neck, but finds it completely taut and practically embedded in the plastic casing of Connor’s neck. Hank cringes, his eyes flicking around at the links wildly in desperation. He runs his hands through his hair. 

He needs something to cut them. Like an axe or… he hurries over to a pair of bolt cutters laying on the floor just on the other side of Petramy’s still form. He doesn’t even spare the corpse a sideways glance, but he does hesitate at the blue stains adorning the handle. He feels nauseous at the sight but rushes back to Connor regardless. He gently pushes Connor’s white head back, cupping his face by the chin and only only now realizing that his skin projection was off. It hadn't even crossed his mind earlier. He holds it away while positioning the bolt cutters to the chain around his neck. Using his free hand, unfortunately the one he was forced to dislocate the thumb of, he pushes the handles together along with his wounded shoulder. He grunts, feeling a burning chill run up his body before the chain snaps under the pressure. 

With just as much care, he releases Connor’s chin. The kid’s head lolls back, mouth parting. Hank only spares him a glance before moving onto the other chains. 

Most are wrapped around Connor’s arms, and Hank notices with anger that his hands are still bound behind his back. Something about that just makes something inside him break. He blinks away the burning behind his eyes and continues. 

It takes him what feels like an eternity to finish with all the chains. Once he finally cuts the last one, he has to throw the bolt cutters across the room just to prevent himself from accidentally hurting either him or Connor when he catches the unconscious android. 

After it’s all done, Hank just sits there on the blue coated ground, arms wrapped around Connor with the kid’s head cradled in his hand, tucked beneath his chin. Hank just...needs a moment. 

But he doesn't have one. He knows this as soon as he feels the dampness of his shirt grow. When he adjusts his hold on Connor, he sees blue soaking into his already bloodied shirt. The red and blue on the thing swirl around and make the older man feel like throwing up. 

“Okay, kid,” he takes a deep breath, reaching for a knife lying forgotten on the ground only about a foot away. Lightning strikes outside, illuminating the shed and revealing just how disgusting the shed truly is. Hank wants to get Connor out of there. He wants to grab him and haul him off to the truck and go  _ home _ , to tuck him in in Hank’s bed because the last thing the kid needs right now is to be forced to rest on a musty, old sofa like usual, god damnit, “Just give me one sec...that’s it.”

He grabs the scissors and reaches for Connor’s hands. He makes quick work of the numerous zip ties. He then lays him down on the disgusting ground, trying to ignore the way Connor’s head and limbs just sort of stay wherever he places them. Like he has no life in him anymore. 

He rips his jacket off, clumping it together into something that at least seems more comfortable than the grime coated concrete floor. He lifts Connor’s head and places the jacket underneath it. 

It’s not needed, he knows. For one, Connor’s unconscious. Secondly, androids don’t seek the same type of comfort as humans. But, if Hank was truly honest, he couldn’t give less of a fuck. 

Hank has to really force himself to finally look at Connor’s legs. He knows he has to tend to them...knows that it’s important. A matter of life and death. Just a momentary glance, and it makes him feel the innate desire to pick his gun up and shoot Petramy a few more times. 

Without another thought, Hank scoots over to the disgusting bin of biocomponents. He doesn’t hesitate to dive into it, moving pieces to the side and searching for anything that looks... _ fresh _ .

It doesn’t take him long. He takes comfort in the fact that this all happened shortly before he awoke from being smacked in the head, at least. That means Connor hasn't lost as much thirium as he initially thought. He reaches for the pieces of plastic still oozing blue blood. 

They’re disconnected at the joints, but the casing, wiring, and struts are all ripped to pieces. Pulled enough apart so that Petramy was able to inspect them before discarding them for later use. Hank sets them beside Connor just as gently as he had with Connor himself. He finds as many pieces as possible, already knowing that its not enough nor is it even easy to figure out where it all goes. 

A piece is missing from one of Connor’s forearms, pieces missing from his chest and back. Like Petramy was a vulture picking at a fresh corpse. The only differences were that Connor was— is still alive, and that he wasn’t doing it for any other reason than to see how much money he could get out of Connor’s parts. 

Hank finally feels the damn break. Finally feels the single drop of water fall from his eye, followed by a few more before he hides his face in his hand. He takes a suffering gasp of air, rubbing the tears from his face. He doesn’t know that he’s succeeded in marking his face with blue blood at the same time. 

Then he gets to work. 

Hank succeeds at connecting the struts of Connor’s lower legs back to the upper ones, but draws a blank when he looks to reconnecting the casing of them back on. He tries setting them gently and hoping they click into place, and when that didn’t work he tried force.

Nothing. 

God damnit…

He glances around him at a loss, noting the growing pool of blue blood coming towards him from the still bleeding legs in front of him. He isn’t a tech. He doesn’t even fully understand the  _ human _ body. He knows basic first aid. Knows CPR, how to use and AED. Knows basic first aid when it comes to simple stuff like concussions, bandaging, even has experience stitching up a fellow officer. Hell, he’s even delivered a fucking baby in the back of some stranger’s car without any complications. 

He’s had his rounds, but nothing like this. Nothing android, nothing this severe with either and android or a human. 

But, he knows that androids are more resilient. He knows Connor is a tough sonofabitch and that he’s just going to have to figure this out as best as he could. The day he was officially assigned the entirety of the deviancy cases by Jeffery was the first time he actually admitted how little he knew about androids.

_ “I know jackshit about androids, Jeffery,” he had said, “I can barely change the settings on my own phone.” _

He smiles at the memory, standing and beginning to dig through the various drawers around him. He finds more useless fucking tools, some stain for wood, a shit ton of unused paint brushes and rags— 

_ “Everybody’s overloaded. I think you’re perfectly qualified for this type of investigation.” _

_ “Bullshit!” _

He grabs hold of the one thing he thing might help and sends a prayer Jeffery’s way, almost pleading that he was right about one thing— if he was perfect for this type of shit, then maybe he could be able to get Connor back on his feet. 

“Listen Connor,” he mumbles, holding the roll of silver duct tape in his trembling hands with a grimace, “This isn’t ideal, and you’re going to hate me for it, but I’ll be damned if I’m going to let you die in a place like this because I’m incapable of fixing you so…” 

He pats Connor’s chest, keeping his hand there for a second to just... _ feel _ the beating of his quivering thirium pump. He sighs, “Just stay with me, alright?”

He doesn’t wait for an answer and gets to work. 

It’s messy, and arguable sloppy. But by the time he’s got the bleeding on one of Connor’s legs under control, it looks stable enough to not completely fall apart if he were to help Connor walk. 

He acknowledges that he’s going to be there for a long while longer. With the other leg, the gashes on Connor’s torso and the damage to the android’s head, he had a bit left before Connor was fit for travel of any kind.

He’s halfway through getting the other leg in the same shape as the first when he hears an eerie sing-song voice echo throughout the shed. The rain falling on the roof and dripping onto the floor inside makes it even harder to discern. He tries not to get distracted, and almost forgets about it in his concentration when it goes off again:

“ Domo arigato Mr. Roboto—”

“Goddamn...what the Hell?” He stops his work and glances around the room, recognizing the song immediately. He lifts Connor’s reconstructed leg off of his lap, tosses the roll of duct tape, and moves over to Petramy’s lifeless body. Patting him down, he finally finds the source of the music tucked away in the pocket of Petramy’s jeans. He pulls it out, flicking the green button across the screen and placing it to his ear expectantly.

“Hello?”

The line clicks off. 

He blinks at the blank screen wildly, “...what?”

He thought that Petramy had tossed his phone somewhere. And, he assumed that that meant that him and the broad inside would have purposefully left their phones as well. But, as the saying goes, assuming makes an ass out of ‘u and me’. The old proverb is lost to him and he hurriedly dials 911 into the phone. 

He can’t say he’s surprised when he finds himself not getting through. No signal out here...probably one reason why Petramy chose this dump as his hideout. Perfect place to take androids who can’t call for help. It was an unspoken question to Connor earlier— why he hadn't tried to contact help. Being unconscious all throughout the drive and then arriving in a building with no signal would explain all of that. 

He figured something was up. 

“Goddamnit!” he chucks his phone across the shed, rubbing his eyes viciously. Having so much hope and then getting it ripped away…

A small sound, like a hum. Perhaps a sigh, interrupts any of Hank’s internal turmoil. He looks up from his hands, glancing at the body of Petramy first. If the bastard was still alive...Hell, at least he’d be able to make the guy’s life a living Hell until he finally drops dead. 

Jeffery and the others would be against this sort of thinking...except Gavin maybe...or Person. Whatever, the point being is he didn’t care. Fuck this guy— 

He quickly pulls the jacket away from Petramy’s corpse as though to prove his point. He then proceeds to fluff it out and lay it tenderly over Connor’s torso for now. 

Another sound, louder. A groan. Pained. Confused. Afraid. 

“Wha—,” Hank immediately finds himself leaning over Connor’s face, “Connor? Connor, you there?”

Connor’s face does a sort of dance— twitching in several different places. It seems strange without his usual freckles and eyebrows. More like a manikin finally coming to life. Hank doesn’t care, he feels hopeful as Connor’s brows furrow, eyes moving underneath his eyes. His agape mouth finally shuts, lips pressed thinly as he fights with consciousness. 

Hank places a hand on the side of Connor’s face, “You with me kid?”

Hank hurriedly retrieves his phone and turns the flashlight on, pointing it up at the ceiling so as to illuminate the space better. Just as he returns to Connor’s side does the android finally manage to open his eyes. They waver, roaming the space lethargically, and obviously disoriented, but Hank could give away everything he has ever had if it meant keeping those eyes open forever. 

The smile that has grown across his face as Connor’s eyes begin to slide closed once more. He panics, snapping his fingers above Connor’s face before the android could fall back into rest mode. It works.

Connor’s eyes once again roam aimlessly, so Hank comes closer, only inches away from Connor’s face, “Hey, hey...look right here. C’mon…”

Connor’s gaze finally meets Hank’s own. He studies him or a moment, blinking once, “Hank...what..?”

Hank could scream. He could scream and rave and party with the amount of pure  _ ecstasy _ that flows through him at the very moment that Connor speaks. The silence of the past few days would haunt him forever, but he has that voice back. Connor’s voice back. He smiles down at the android. 

“Hey there…” his voice is as soft as it was at Cole’s bedside once he had been allowed in the hospital room near the end. He notes how Connor looks just as bad as.., “Jesus…”

Connor’s eyes move away from him, one of his arms twitching. Hank glances at it as Connor tries to lift it from the ground. Hank grabs ahold of it immediately, taking hold of his hand and pressing it firmly back to the ground, “Don’t move, alright? You’re okay, back up is coming soon.”

It’s a lie. Hank knows, and, maybe even Connor knows. He finds it unlikely, though. Connor may be a multimillion dollar invention that took years to perfect with more technology than Hank will ever know how to work, but he’s still  _ mortal. _ Still fallible, still able to get fucked up by a wuss in the middle of nowhere and just need to be able to not think or worry about anything for a long while. 

“O-okay?” Connor’s voice is lined with static, and Hank cringes at the fact that there’s still plenty more work to be done before he can get Connor out of there and back to safety. 

He grabs his phone and refocuses on the leg he was almost done patching up. Only a few more pieces of plastic casing and he’d be set to get to work on the rest of Connor’s body. The roll of duct tape was dwindling fast...he just hopes he’ll be able to get what needs to be done done before he’s left with nothing else to fix up Connor with. 

Hank sees from the corner of his eye Connor’s head loll to the side, apparently checking out their surroundings. Hank suddenly wonders if Connor even remembers anything about being in this room. He had been kicked in the face right before getting dragged away. Did he wake up in the middle of...whatever the fuck Petramy had been doing. Or, was he spared that trauma...please let it have been that…

Connor sucks in a shaking breath and Hank looks to him helplessly— his body was trying to recalibrate his temperature. Hank could feel the strange way that Connor’s limbs and the majority of his torso were freezing to the touch, yet the center of his chest was scalding. 

Hank wants to let Connor rest. To go back into rest mode. But as soon as he sees his eyelids slipping closed he speaks up, “Connor, hey…”

Dark brown eyes meet Hank’s and he searches for some way to make conversation. He asks the question that’s been bugging him, “Do you, uh, do you remember what happened?”

Hank carefully wraps the last piece of duct tape around Connor’s leg that he needed before looking over at the android in concern. Connor was taking a while to respond, huffing heated breath every few seconds and just staring at Hank with tired eyes. 

Hank leans forward, clasping Connor’s shoulder, “Connor, do you remember what happened?”

It takes another breath before Connor finally answers, “N-no, what...I can’t feel my— where…”

Hank’s heart plummets. Anger and sadness and concern swarm in him and he can tell that the look that’s taken over his relieved yet worried expression is now  _ thunderous.  _ Connor eyes him concernedly and  _ no _ , he does not get to be worried about Hank  _ now _ of all times. Hank shakes his head, smiling back at Connor though he knows it doesn’t quite reach his eyes, “Hey now, don’t worry about it, okay?”

Hank examines what else needs done before he can drag Connor back into the dry house and plan their next course of action, “I’m going to get you feeling 100% here in just a sec, alright?”

But, Connor doesn’t  _ stop _ talking now. Hank pauses in his endeavor to patch up Connor’s arm and watches as the kid’s face twists in ways that make Hank’s heart do the same. 

“Hank...I don’t,” Connor’s gaze flicks across the room, his fingers on both hands twisting into twitching fists. Hank sets his own hands on top of the clenched hands, but he doubts Connor can actually feel them at this point— too lost in his own thoughts, ““I can’t tell how bad— how bad is it? What...happen— what hap…”

Hank closes his eyes, bowing his head. Connor’s words...there’s so many things wrong with them for so many reasons. The articulation, the  _ question _ , even the fact that he’s acknowledging that he can’t feel  _ something _ . 

Hank desperately dials 911 again on his phone, turning the flashlight off so he doesn’t blind Connor on top of everything else. 

Once again. Nothing. 

Hank watches as the grip he has on his phone causes a deep crack to burst the screen, and he chucks the thing across the shed once again. Anger invading every bit of his being. Connor flinches at the sound that the impact of his phone against the wall makes and suddenly all of the anger drains away. Hank reaches for Connor now, trying to ignore the single tear running down the android’s face as he pulls Connor into a secure embrace.

He can’t help the overflow of emotion that hits him, then. The desperation. He could hide it easily when Connor was out. In a way...he was able to treat Connor like he was just some... _ machine _ . Now, with him breathing and choking and mumbling confused questions and statements and…

Hank bows his head, pressing it to Connor’s own bare one. 

“Just a few more minutes, alright. I swear,” Another lie. A comforting one, but now he knows that Connor might just believe it enough that even Hank finds comfort in it. Comfort in the fact that Connor won’t feel so stressed. That’s the last thing he needs right now. 

“H—an…” Connor’s voice is once again laced with static, the syllables forced out painfully, “I don’t…feel…”

Only after a few moments of utter silence between the two does Hank hear a soft hum come from Connor followed by a sharp gasp. Hank stays tucked away beside Connor’s head.

“Han—k...I think I’m gonna...I think…”

Hank nods, ignoring the few stray tears that slide down his face. He raises his head, watching as Connor’s eyes roll back into his head, their lids closing slowly as another flash of lightning streaks the sky outside. 

Hanks forces another calm smile, “Okay, okay,” He rubs a hand down Connor’s coat-covered chest, “Go ahead and rest, kid. I’ve got you.”

And as his breathing program halts in Connor’s sleeping state, Hank rubs frantically at the falling tears, once again retrieving the roll of duct tape beside him and getting back to work, Connor staying on his lap the whole time. 

Resting uneasily, but resting all the same. 


	8. Fraud

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Disclaimer: I own nothing related to Detroit: Become Human.)

In the end, he can’t exactly just stay kneeling on the ground with Connor in his arms. Even if Connor’s stable, well, stable enough, he needs to get the two of them out of there ASAP. To get medical attention. Connor needs it desperately. 

Hank flexes the fingers on his hurt hand and winces as his thumb barely moves. Even if it’s not vital, he’d sure like to go and get some medical attention as well. He’s been ignoring it, but now that the immediate danger is over, the throbbing of his hand and shoulder are starting to get to him. 

And that brings another question: how the Hell is he supposed to manage carrying Connor into the house while both of them are like _ this _. Connor held together with scraps and Hank having a hard enough time holding Connor while they’re both on the ground. 

He rocks back and forth slightly, looking down at Connor’s blank face. He shakes the android gently and his head lolls against Hank’s shoulder without any flicker of consciousness passing by his face. The blue staining the casing around his eye just seems so strange on a face so..._ peaceful? _ How can the kid even _ be _ peaceful in a situation like this. 

He takes a deep breath, listening to the drizzle of rain outside. In any other situation, it _ might _ have been peaceful. Maybe, somehow, Connor feels the same. Since he apparently was having problems recollecting the past night’s events. _ Good. Let him forget _. 

“Okay, bud,” Hank mumbles, lowering Connor back to the ground, “Let’s see if I can do something about this shoulder of mine, then we’ll get the Hell out of here.”

He stands slowly, groaning at the strain his back has taken this past night. He saw some guy do this once on a case— inside an apartment while they were trying to draw out a suspect. He got knocked to the ground and his shoulder popped out of its socket. Never saw a guy’s face turn that red before while fighting the urge to scream. 

Next thing Hank knew, the guy was on his feet and ramming his shoulder into the nearest wall to him. Hank thought he was going to puke once the _ pop _ sound of everything aligning once more echoed in his ears. 

Not exactly a smart way to go about this, but Hank couldn’t force Connor to help him out and he needed to be able to get Connor up and back into the house. He couldn’t do that if he couldn’t even move his arm all that much. Much less lift any weight into it. 

_ Can’t do that if you end up completely shattering your arm, either. _

He sets his hand on the wall, trying to motivate himself. After the night he’s had, it seems silly to be feeling queasy over something like this. Without..._ blood _ . _ So much blood... _He counts down in his head, pulling in hagard breaths. 

“Okay, okay,” He whispers to himself, “Here we go…”

One…

Two…

He slams his dislocated shoulder into the wall, and a hesitant pop shifts his entire upper body. He shouts out in pained surprise and slides back down to his knees, grunting and taking in slow breaths through clenched teeth. 

“Th—three…” 

He doesn’t waste anymore time than he needs to, and shuffles over to Connor on his knees, rubbing his tender shoulder in the process. This, he decides, is going to _ suck ass. _

“Alright,” He tenderly shoves one of his arms under Connor’s knees, trying to ignore how mangled the limbs now appear in the low light of the shed. He tried his best, now he needs to get Connor to someone who can do so much better. His other arm pushes beneath Connor’s shoulders, and with a sharp tug, he successfully pulls Connor into his arms. He tries to ignore how Connor’s limbs flop around like noodles. One swinging loosely against Hank’s leg as Connor’s pressed chest to chest to Hank, and how the other’s flopped over his chest, fingers angled awkwardly against Hank’s own. 

Hank looks down at Connor’s blank face pressed against his shoulder, “This may be a bit bumpy, but hang on.”

As quickly as Hank can actually manage, he pushes past the doorway and begins the trip up to the house. In the distance, Hank can see the sky beginning to light up. The darkness slowly ebbing away. Already morning. _ How long was I in that shed _, Hank wonders. 

He struggles to turn the doorknob and kicks the door open. The plan is to find the car keys and drive to a point where he can call help, or at least access a GPS. But, the truck is an old model— one without the built in GPS or phone. So, he needs to find one of these douche canoes’ phones, but— 

There’s a hard impact to the side of Hank’s head. His vision dances in vicious white and black spots before the weight in his arms disappears and his entire body slams into something hard. The air is pushed from his lungs from a strange lump on the ground, but that’s the only piece of understanding that crosses his mind.

“— with Greg?”

The buzzing in his ears ceases halfway through a sentence, and only then does Hank process what has just happened. He tries to get his hands under him. To push himself off of…

His eyes grow wide when he realizes that he fell directly _ on top of Connor _ . The _ last _ thing the kid needs right now is Hank’s heavy ass collapsing on him. Luckily it doesn’t seem like being tousled woke Connor up...Hank tries to figure out if that’s actually a good thing or not. 

“I asked where Greg is,” Sara’s voice erupts, full of menace and spite, a low growl far different from the careful tone she had before with her threats and such. She kicks one of Hank’s feet, “You piece of shit.” 

As Hank gets to his knees, he tries to bring Connor up with him. More of a chance to at least _ try _ to make a run for it...less of a chance to reach for the…

Hank freezes...the _ gun _. 

He left the thing outside. In his rush to get Connor to a facility to get repairs, he didn’t even think that he’d _ need _ the thing. Didn’t realize he’d spent long enough in the shed for Sara to wake up.

He slowly turns, slightly dragging Connor with him. Sara’s standing above him, holding the same 2x4 that dislocated his shoulder hours ago. Hank can feel the pulsing in both his shoulder and head as he looks at the thing. 

“Outside,” Hank chooses to answer. It’s safe. Not a complete lie, but not telling the whole truth, either. Petramy’s outside...but he won’t be moving himself back in here no matter how long they wait. 

Sara’s face twitches, “What’d you do to him?”

Hank nods at Connor, “I had to get him away from my partner, obviously.”

“That’s not answering my question,” she seems frantic, taking a few steps to the side to block Hank’s path to the front door. 

Hank doesn’t know how to deter her. He needs to get her away from the door, to at least allow him to make a break for it if he can. He has none of his tools with him. No gun, no keys, no phone. No anything. He’s entirely fucked at this point. He holds Connor closer to him. 

He shakes his head, “Go out and see for yourself. He might need your help.”

“You’re coming with me, then.”

Hank shakes his head again, gesturing to Connor “I can’t leave him—”

“Put the thing down or I’ll bash its head in as soon as I’m done bashing yours!”

Hank’s arms tighten around Connor without him even realizing it. Somehow, this woman is more intimidating than Petramy was the entire time that they’ve been stuck here. Petramy was just a lunatic through and through. Nobody kidnaps a human cop and beats their android partner in front of them for an entire day without being entirely off their rocker. But this girl...she was _ pissed _. Being naturally batshit and being emotionally compromised are two completely different things. Hank has learned that time and time again being in his line of work. 

All in all, Hank knows he can’t go with. It would give him the opportunity to grab the gun...but at the same time, it’d be separating himself from Connor while giving Sara the exact same opportunity to grab his gun. He just...can’t. 

Hank swallows thickly, “It won’t change what you find.”

Sara’s eyes grow wide, looking down at Hank in profound shock. Her hands loosen on the wooden board as her mouth parts.

Hank slowly gets to his feet, hugging Connor’s upper body to his chest, “He gave me no choice.”

She raises one hand to cover her face and Hank takes the chance to try and make his way to the front door. He’ll take his chances walking to safety for miles over trying to take this woman down in his current condition at this point. 

“Why..?” She mumbles, rocking back and forth. 

Hank takes another measured step forward, dragging Connor’s broken legs along the ground as he carries him, “He wouldn’t have let us leave.”

Hank knows he’s fucked up as soon as Sara chuckles dryly, “You think _ I _will?”

As soon as Sara moves, Hank’s got his back to her, curling around Connor’s body and preparing for the blow. It still knocks him back to his knees despite his efforts. He grunts, feeling the sting of the wood bruising his back. He doesn’t care. Connor’s been protecting his ass for the past day or so, Hank’ll be damned if he can’t do the exact same. 

Hank twists, releasing his hold on Connor with one hand to swing at Sara. It’s his good hand, so when it lands a hit on her face she goes tumbling to the side with no sacrifice on Hank’s part. Hank grabs Connor, hefting him up as he make a mad sprint for the door. 

Something hits him, tangling up his legs and tripping him. His body falls forward, but this time he twists to the side. He lands on his previously dislocated shoulder, hissing through his teeth. Before he has a chance to recover, Sara’s on top of him, wrestling Connor out of his grasp and shoving the unconscious android away. Connor’s body rolls, head smacking against the ground harshly in a way that makes Hank’s own pain practically disappear.

“Don’t you touch him—”

Sara swings downward, straddling Hank and it takes a moment for him to realize that she’s no longer armed with a wooden plank, but rather a pocket knife. He grabs ahold of her wrists before the blade can make contact. His eyes are as wide as saucers, staring up at her like she’s turned bright pink. 

“What the fu—” she breaks his hold again and slices, this time hitting him on his cheek with the blade. It’s barely a cut, just a small scratch but facial wounds always bleed the worst. He quickly rolls her, forcing her beneath him as he tries to disarm her. He gets both her wrists locked down to the ground, trying to maneauver through her thrashing and cursing. 

He doesn’t expect her knee to come up, nailing him in the groin. 

The fight almost seems to pause. He goes down on his side, groaning exhaustedly. He senses Sara skitter across the floor on her hands and knees, feels her eyes on him and after a moment to regain in focus and get rid of his chagrin, he looks up at her. 

Or, across— she sits on the floor, but she’s not alone. 

Hank pushes himself to his elbows immediately, eyes locked on her and his entire body rigid. 

“Don’t move,” she says, pressing the blade to Connor’s throat. Hank gasps softly. Sara sits with Connor practically in her lap, his limbs tangled in Petramy’s jacket that’s wrapped around his upper body, and his bald head hanging limply from her elbow that’s pressing up on his chin to reveal his plastic neck. Hank grinds his teeth, already seeing a faint blue line running down from where Sara’s shaky hand has planted the knife. 

Hank scoots forward.

Sara shakes Connor, drive the knife further into his throat, “I said don’t _ fucking _ move.”

Her eyes are watering, tears running down her face. Her dark hair sits on her head in a tangled mess, strands falling out of her updo and streaking across her moist face. Blood leaks from her nose from Hank’s earlier strike, staining the collar of her shirt. 

Hank raises his hands peacefully, “Okay, okay.”

She pushes the blade even further, “I should fucking kill him...I should do it _ right now _ just to make you feel something of how I feel right now.”

Hank resists laughing. A bitter, soul aching laugh, “Trust me, I do understand. I do.”

“Then you’re nothing but a monster,” she hisses, tightening her arm around Connor’s neck. It makes Hank’s gaze flicker from his face to her own, trying to measure up how best to handle this situation, “Who would force someone else to endure pain like this, huh? Why would you—”

“How could I not?” Hank asked, raising his hands higher to show he was no longer a threat to her, “He was going to murder my friend there. _ Look _ at him. You didn’t do that, and I sure as Hell didn’t.”

“It’s a machine,” Sara mumbles, rolling her eyes, “You killed a human being.”

“I would argue he wasn’t much of a person either.”

Wrong choice. Sara’s face grows thunderous and she tightens her hold on the knife. Hank panics.

“Just listen!” He shouts. It startles her. The hand holding the knife flinches, “Please, just listen for a second.”

She blinks at him owlishly, her eyes red from the tears that have been welling up in them. Hank moves to rest on his knees, leaving his hands up in the air. 

“Connor, my friend there, has done some fucked up shit, okay? I get that. So have I,” Hank motions to the back door and adds softly, “So did your friend.”

Sara bites her lip.

“But, that doesn’t matter, does it, huh?” Hank continues, scooting forward slightly, “You loved him, and, goddamnit, I love that idiot you’re holding just as much as I have anyone in my family. I did what I had to to save him and if that warrants someone dying here then kill me, alright?”

Hank swears, in that moment, he can see Connor’s eyelids twitch, but he doesn’t get any chance to check before Sara speaks.

“I did all of this...for _ him _,” she says, lowering the knife slightly, “I didn’t want to. I never had any negative experiences with androids...I didn’t have any positive ones with people until him, either. He got fired and, well...what was I supposed to do?”

She looks to the ground, “What am I supposed to do now?”

Hank swallows thickly, seeing one of Connor’s eyes flicker open. He prays the kid doesn’t panic. Hopes he’s too out of it to fight back against Sara. 

“Listen,” Hank scoots closer once again, coming close enough to where he can reach her should he hold his arm out straight, “If...if you let us go— let me get him to a facility, I _ swear _, your name won’t be mentioned. You can move on without any police on your back. Just…”

Hank lowers his hands slightly, watching as Connor’s now opened eyes stare blankly up at the ceiling. Some of his patch job on Connor’s legs had gotten fucked up and now small streams of thirium was leaking from in between swaths of tape. Hank bites his lip, noticing the stains on his torso having grown as well. He wasn’t able to do much about the internal wounds. He definitely didn’t want to go picking through the kid’s insides. Not so much for the gore, but because of the fact that he was most definitely capable of fucking something up _ badly _. 

Hank lowers his hands completely, “Please, just...let him go. Let me get him help. Please.”

It takes Sara another moment before she lowers the knife the rest of the way, watching Hank carefully. 

The knife tumbles to the ground gracelessly, and when she pushes Connor off of herself, Hank catches him just the same. He huffs, watching as Sara stands to her full height and looks down at them with disgust. He once again curls around Connor, shielding him from any possible attacks Sara might still being gearing for. 

But she only stares for just a moment before walking to the back door. She pauses before turning the handle, “Just go.”

Then she opens the door, and disappears into the backyard, leaving Hank and Connor behind in the room they had been tortured in, and the one they had fought for each other's lives in. 

  
  
  
  
  
  



	9. Treachery

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Make sure to read the notes at the end of the chapter for important information!
> 
> (Disclaimer: I don't own anything related to Detroit:Become Human.)

The engine sputters for the 4th time, interrupting the calm of early morning. The sun peaks over the horizon, igniting the sky in an array of colors. Birds chitter in the surrounding fields and trees, interrupting the sound of wind blowing smoothly across the surrounding fields of crops.

“God fucking damnit!”

Hank twists the key dramatically, practically doubling over himself trying to force the key to go further than it actually could. He won to a degree, at least he thought. He convinced Sara to let them leave, got Connor out the front door fairly easily, and found that the keys to the truck were left in the ignition. He was ecstatic...until he found the car stalling with every attempt to turn it on. 

“C’mon,” Hank murmurs. He takes the keys out as though that’ll fix the problem. A sort of turn it off and back on again sort of thing. Hey, if it works for computers somewhat and on androids who have turned their speech off...maybe it’ll work for a few decades old car, “I don’t have time for this.”

He puts the keys back and twists. The sputters, grinding under the hood and then stills. 

Hank huffs, “I will literally do anything if this car starts, okay? I may not be a praying guy, but come the fuck on, God. Help me out here!”

Sputter...then nothing. 

“I may be a piece of shit but Connor hasn't even had the opportunity to live long enough to become a piece of shit yet, so…” again, silence of the engine, “Maybe cut him a little slack?”

He twists again, holds the keys in the far position hearing as the engine grinds. He expects it to die, but it instead grows louder and more even. The car vibrates, the lights on the dashboard flickering on. Hank, in that moment, feels about ready to become a minister or a deacon or some shit, he swears. 

“Fucking finally…” Hank hops out of the driver's seat, kneeling down to where he’s placed Connor during his endeavor with the car. 

The kid’s legs are stretched in front of him, staining the dying grass a nasty blue-green color. Hank had slipped the jacket he’d stolen from Petramy on him only minutes before, wrestling with his noodle-like limbs to get them in the sleeves. Seeing the pale casing clash with the black jacket sends a slight chill up Hank’s spine. 

“Alright, kiddo,” Hank grunts, grabbing one of his arms and slinging it over his shoulder. His other hand practically huggs Connor to his chest as he rises. He drags Connor to the passenger side, trying to ignore the creaking sound coming from his legs as Connor’s feet drag through the grass behind them. 

It takes Hank a moment to prepare himself to place Connor _ in _ the car. His shoulder is screaming at him and his wounded hand is numb by now with a deep seeded ache in his bones. He closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and then hauls Connor’s legs up with his upper body, placing him gingerly in the passenger seat. 

Connor almost falls forward without the support of Hank, but the older man quickly pushes the seat back so the kid is laying down. Hank takes the time to buckle Connor up, pulling it so that the belt locks into place without any give. And then with one more glance at Connor’s peaceful face, Hank slams the door closed. He rushes to the driver side door, glancing at the dilapidated cabin. 

He doesn’t notice the haunted expression that takes over his face until he forces himself into the truck and glances in the rear view mirror. Dark circles rest under his eyes, blood caking one side of his face from when he got nailed with the pistol hours ago, and blue blood marking his cheek from he doesn’t even know when. His hair hangs in his face and no matter how hard he tries to make his expression seem relaxed, his eyes just..._ remain _ wide and petrified looking. 

Maybe he’s grown a little numb over the past few hours in general. Maybe that’s for the best.

Hank sighs, glancing at Connor before pushing the truck into drive and pulling onto the road. He can’t help but watch as the cabin gradually disappears from the rear view mirror. The weight that’s been sitting in his chest for the past few days slowly lessens, though it never completely fades to nothing. 

“Okay...no idea where the fuck we are…” Hank mumbles, patting Connor’s arm that hangs across the center console, fingers brushing Hank’s leg every time they hit a nasty bump, “_ But _, we’re on the home stretch now, son.”

The gravel of the road causes the truck to creak and groan as it goes mile after mile down back roads with no houses really in sight. Maybe a couple every few miles, but they seem just as dilapidated as the one they had just escaped from. Hank questions if he should even bother stopping to see if anyone’s home. Upon seeing no cars in passing on the lots, he ultimately decides against it. 

“Could really use that head of yours right about now, Connor…”

Hank sighs as he continues down the street, digging in his memory for anything that might hint him on where to turn. 

He’s so caught up in his thoughts that almost jerks off the road when another voice enters the silence. 

“Con—inue for approximately…” Hank curses loudly, trying to straighten the car as his eyes land on Connor’s slumped form in the seat. The kid is in the same laying down position that Hank had set him in, but his eyes are half open and his mouth is moving without any sound coming out of it. His eyes stare at the ceiling of the truck dully, flickering every now and again like they do when he receives a message. Hank exhales heavily, grabbing hold of Connor’s upper arm as he divides his attention between the road and his now conscious partner. 

“What were you saying?” Hank asks, his voice more tender than he thinks it’s been in a long time. There’s been a lot of that today, though, “Can you repeat it…please?”

Connor stares in silence, mouth stopping in it’s mute movements for a moment. Only a moment though. 

Grinding sounds off deep in Connor’s chest, a thin line of thirium running from the corner of Connor’s mouth and Hank is already guiding the truck to the side of the road frantically before he’s interrupted by the same unexpected voice. 

“One hour…enty-five m-m-m-m-minutes before your destination,” Connor’s voice is his, but sounds like some sort of fake ‘customer service’ tone. Like...like a machine, “Continue— tinue for approximately twenty miles before— tur-ur-ur-urning right on Remington Road.”

Hank’s breathing comes quickly once he realizes what is happening. A smile...the first true one that has graced his face since this entire nightmare started adorns his visage. He feels a hysterical laugh erupt in his chest as a burning sensation spread behind his eyes once again, “Remington Road it is, son! You got it.”

He slams on the gas, pushing the truck even faster in his ecstatic happiness. 

Connor heard him! Hank laughs again, a single tear escaping his eye as Connor’s voice informs him of his progress. Somehow the kid managed to pull one last miracle out of his ass even when he’s looking like he could shatter any moment. He must’ve awoken when he detected a signal of some sort connecting to him...or whatever. Must’ve already known about the predicament the two of them were in. Hell, Hank thinks, he probably knew this problem would come up as soon as he woke up in the house on that first day. Even now he was watching Hank’s back. 

“God,” Hank heaves out in between joyful laughs, “I owe you big time, kid. You want anything once we’re back in shape I’m gonna do it, you hear me? Any-fucking-thing you want.”

Hank glances across the center console at Connor. His head has lolled slightly, turned away from Hank like he’s staring at the door. Hank’s brow creases and he reaches over, gently cupping Connor’s face and pulling it so he can look into Connor’s eyes. 

Hank knows immediately something isn’t right. Connor’s eyes are still half mast, one of them bloodshot and pretty gnarly looking but what troubles Hank the most is the lack of recognition. Even in the shed Connor had said Hank’s name and spoken with him. He had looked at him exhaustively and fearfully, yes, but they also looked at Hank with trust, even if it was covered by delirium. 

Hank draws his hand away when Connor begins speaking once more, “Take a turn to the right, now.”

Hank gasps, “Shit!”

He slams on the breaks, pressing his hand to Connor’s damaged chest to prevent him from being thrown forward and skids to a complete stop right before his turn. ‘Remington Road’ is written on the dusty sign in worn white paint but Hank basically completely ignores it. He unbuckles himself and leans over the center console, cupping Connor’s face on both sides. He’s done a lot of that today, too. Half of him hopes Connor doesn’t remember any of this squishy side of Hank...the other half couldn’t give two shits. 

“Connor?” He murmurs, staring into his blank eyes as Connor repeats his previous direction. He jostles Connor slightly, shaking his head as carefully as he dares between his hands, “Connor! C’mon kid, what’s going on in that head of yours…”

The third time Connor repeats his instruction, Hank’s face completely crumbles. The stress of the last few days and the concern that’s been melting him from the inside out finally wins and the smile he had on his face only moments before is completely forgotten. He drops his head, forehead making contact with Connor’s cracked and broken chest as he finally lets the floodgates open. 

“God fucking damnit, Connor…” he murmurs, voice muffled by the fabric of the jacket he’d stolen from Petramy. Suddenly Hank has the urge to rip the thing off Connor and run it over a few thousand times until it’s nothing but dust in the wind, “What’s happening to you…”

He takes a minute just sitting there, feeling Connor’s thirium pump beneath his cheek and hearing the whistling of his respiration program struggling through the damage. Hank breathes in deeply, calming himself down. He sits up, running his sleeves across his face swiftly. 

“Okay,” he sniffs his nose, clearing his throat as he settles back into his seat and does his seat belt, “Okay, okay. I got you now. It’s alright Connor, just keep telling me where to go.”

He says it like he’s comforting Connor, but, maybe he’s comforting himself instead.

**8:24 A.M.**

Hank almost swerves off the road again when he finally sees the distant silhouette of Detroit’s downtown in the way of the sun that’s been blinding him for the past hour. His heart starts hammering in his chest as he begins trying to map out how exactly to get to the android clinic. It isn’t the same as a human hospital. Looks less official. 

Kind of like a slightly sketchy bed-and-breakfast that’s three stories tall and crammed between two supermarkets that aren’t very well known. 

He gets onto the interstate quickly, swerving past cars and ignoring how they honk at him if he gets a little too close to hitting them. They can deal with it. Go complain to the cops— how ironic would that be?

Just as the thought crosses his mind, he see the red, white, and blue lights light up a cruiser that is passing him going the other way. He feels like he should laugh, since the likelihood of him knowing the person to some degree is likely, and the possibility of them knowing him is almost guaranteed. He would just have to stop and give his information, explain the situation and get an escort. 

The thing is...he doesn’t stop. He doesn’t have time for that bullshit. 

He grinds his teeth and pushes forward. Recognizing the street he’s on as soon as he gets off of his exit. 

“In 3 miles, turn left…” Connor sputters in the passenger seat and Hank gives him a startled look as more thirium comes flowing out of his gaping mouth, “St. Jameson Hospital will—will then be on the right.”

Hank’s face scrunches up, “The hospital?” 

Then understanding passes through him as another cruiser joins the first behind him. Connor set his built-in GPS for the hospital. For _ Hank _. Not the android clinic, not so that Connor can get fixed up and Hank can stop thinking that every second that passes will be his partner’s last. 

Connor wanted to get Hank to the hospital just as much as Hank wanted to get Connor to the clinic. He wanted that so much that he forced himself to stay somewhat conscious so he could activate his GPS. 

Hank growls, “You’re a moron, Connor.”

Completely ignoring Connor’s directions, Hank continues straight through where Connor told him to turn. The android clinic is further into the downtown area. Only one so far exists in the city and it just so happens to be a few blocks further than the actual hospital.

A shiver runs through Connor’s frame, “S-signal lost...recal-recalculating route.”

Hank sighs heavily, glancing nervously back at the now three cruisers chasing him down the street. They’ll figure out the situation in a matter of minutes. They just need to not do anything rash until then. 

A light touch on Hank’s forearm snaps him out of his thoughts. He jumps, swerving slightly before he notices the pale plastic hand hanging off of his forearm. He snaps his gaze to Connor’s face, recognizing the same dull expression, but this time with a crease adorning the androids bald brow. Hank quickly looks back to the road, seeing his turn coming up. 

“T-turn around...Make a U-turn.”

“No Connor,” Hank murmurs, taking the android’s hand in his own and gripping it tightly, “Just no. We’re okay.”

Connor’s eyes slip closed with little more than a light exhale.

Hank holds his breath as he rushes his oncoming turn, gripping Connor’s hand harder and stiffening his entire body as the tires of the truck screech. Skid marks are probably left in his wake, but he doesn’t think about it before he’s rushing into the parking lot of the small android clinic. The police cruisers are right behind him, but he ignores them, squeezing Connor’s hand for the last time before turning off the truck and throwing his door open. 

“Freeze!”

Hank almost does as he pauses in his venture to get to the passenger side door, but instead he slows, recognizing the voice immediately. He figured he’d recognize someone, but he could freaking _ kiss _ this man now that he’s in front of him. 

“Chris.” he breathes and notices the younger officer’s eyes widen exponentially. Hank doesn’t bother with explanations, finishing his trek and flinging Connor’s door open. He can hear Chris calming the other officers down behind him, but focuses solely on unbuckling Connor and gathering him into his arms. 

Chris approaches him, “Jesus, Lieutenant. We’ve had officers looking for you for _ days _. Where have you—” 

Chris’ eyes widen even more when Hank finally gets Connor into his arms, stumbling backward slightly. People are already stepping out of the clinic, trying to figure out what is causing the commotion outside. Hank can see the exact moment that Chris snaps out of his shock and it’s the exact moment that Hank’s legs suddenly can’t take his _ and _ Connor’s weight anymore. 

Chris grabs Hank under his elbow, and Hank can distantly hear him calling for help from the clinic staff. He also faintly recognizes the company of more officers. Person’s voice drifts in from the throng, calling into dispatch the situation.

Hank’s eyes remain glued to Connor’s slitted brown eyes the entire time, even as Chris manages to snake his arms beneath Connor and takes him from Hank completely. Connor’s eyes slip closed again as he is traded off, one of his fingers snagging on Hank’s shirt before falling limply to his side. Hank doesn’t panic this time, though. 

He doesn’t panic when hands hold him back from following Chris’ retreating form sprinting towards the clinic doors surrounded by androids in scrubs. And he doesn’t panic when his knees finally buckle. 

He doesn’t panic when darkness takes over his vision— when he can feel asphalt under his cheek and hear concerned voices drifting over him as the adrenaline he has been running on for the past hour and a half depletes. 

He lets his eyes close, his last sight being Chris pushing his way through the clinic doors and Connor’s duct taped legs hanging from the young officer’s safe arms. 

  
  


**????**

Hank can hear before anything else. He can hear the distant and steady beeping and he can hear a steady drall right beside the bed, a slight edge to the apparent voice that he recognizes immediately. 

The hardest part is actually getting his eyes to open, though. He manages slightly, squinting against the white light that blinds him immediately. He ultimately gives up, wondering if he should just be reclaimed by sleep. _ He, _the fucker, does not allow it though. 

“Hank?” Fowler’s voice is right next to him and Hank grumbles slightly knowing that he’s not going to be able to get away with anything so long as his boss is here, “I know you’re awake. Come on.”

Hank tries to open his eyes again, finding the light dimmer. As though someone turned them down just for him. He sighs pleasantly, opening his eyes wider and taking in the white walls and the sheets covering his legs.

Oh, then there’s Fowler staring at him from the foot of his bed, sitting forward on one of those uncomfortable hospital chairs. Hank blinks at him dully, sniffing once he notices the tubes hanging from his face and arms. A nasal cannula then...he hums, “What happened?”

His voice is croaky and irritable at the same time, and Hank frowns when Fowler chuckles dryly, “You full on fainted on your fellow officers, that’s what happened.”

“Really? Ugh, never going to live that down.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Fowler scoots his chair closer, “You’ve been here for just over 10 hours already. Doctor said you were pretty dehydrated and that your blood pressure was through the roof.”

Hank distantly wonders if that’s why Connor had been so set on getting him to a hospital. He’s like a nanny— constantly harassing him about his health and his diet. Wouldn’t have surprised him if he had noticed Hank’s vitals like that and acted on it subconsciously. 

Hank huffs, closing his eyes again, “I had a rough couple days. Sue me.”

“So I heard…”

Fowler stops talking as though he’s waiting for Hank to say something else. It takes Hank only a few seconds before he realizes what. 

His eyes snap open, his body jerking into a sitting position and he find Fowler on his feet, hands on his shoulders looking about ready to knock Hank back out himself now. 

“Connor!” Hank sputters, ripping off the nasal cannula and looking warily down at the IV in his arm, “I need to get to the clinic. Have you heard anything from them? Is anyone there with him? Fuck it, I’m going to—” 

“Calm the fuck down, Hank!”

Fowler shoves him roughly back into the pillows of the bed and Hank growls under his breath, glaring up at the captain, “What’s going on over there?”

“I have Tina and Person keeping watch at the clinic since we don’t really know the situation as of right now. No news has come from the techs yet. I gave them my phone number to call when they have news,” Hank goes to say something but Fowler continues before he has the chance, “Until then, there is no point in getting worked up, Hank. You need to focus on recovering, too.”

Hank snorts, “The Hell are you talking about?”

Fowler sighs tiredly, “You have plenty to be worried about with yourself. Fucking three broken ribs, ripped tendons in your shoulder, and a broken thumb— concussion? What the Hell happened, Hank?”

Hank sighs, leaning his head back and staring at the ceiling, “What do you know already?”

“I know you went to go check out a lead you had on that android killer two— almost three days ago,” Hank’s friend stares at him, quirking an eyebrow, “Didn’t call for backup or anything, and when more officers got to Gregory Petramy’s house your car was there but _ you _ weren’t. And neither was Connor. We found nothing of suspicion in Petramy’s house, found no leads, and your witness didn’t have any ideas of where you could be either. I thought I was gonna have a fucking stroke, Hank.”

Hank glances over to the door of his hospital room, feeling a headache beginning to make itself known to him more and more as the seconds went on, “You sure nobody’s going to walk in?”

“I have a guard posted at the door— Chris. He knows not to let anyone in until I clear it,” he leans in even closer, clasping his hands together, “Now tell me what happened out there, Hank.”

Hank inhales heavily, “The fucker jumped us— there was a woman with him and they incapacitated Connor and then got me. Took us to some creepy cabin in the middle of fucking no where. Were trying to find out where we were keeping Katelyn—”

“Do I need to tell them to move her to a more secure location?”

Hank shakes his head, “They won’t be coming for her. Trust me.”

It takes a moment for Fowler’s expression to show understanding, “You killed them?”

Hank almost corrects him. Almost says that he only killed Petramy, not Sara. Almost sends a wild dog chase to her to take care of loose ends, but he doesn’t. He’s not one to hold much merit to keeping his word— but he was completely at her mercy in that house. She could have easily killed Connor and himself and she would have never been found out. She could have burnt the place down and they would have never figured out it was her. 

Instead, she let them go. She let Connor live and she let Hank _ try _ the save him. 

That’s enough. 

“Yeah,” Hank whispers, “I killed them.”

“Jesus, Hank…”

“They beat the shit out of Connor for the two days we were gone— gave me a work over, too, but realized Connor made it so he couldn’t speak. Don’t ask, I don’t really understand it either. They turned all their attention on him, Jeffery. Trying to get me to say something, but I just...couldn’t”

Fowler leans back in his chair, running a hand down his face, “I heard that there was a lot of damage…” his gaze focuses meaningfully on Hank’s again, “Also heard there was a Hell of a patch job.”

Hank can’t help but smile, “I may know Jackshit about my phone, Jeffery, but I managed to do a half-ass job of patching up an android.” 

Fowler smiles at him before his phone begins ringing. Hank feels a lump form in his throat and Fowler gives him a meaningful look before he stands and moves to the corner, pressing the phone to his ear. 

Hank doesn’t hear much of what Fowler says but from the way he runs a hand over his head and moves in place, Hank can tell that something is _ very _ wrong. 

“Alright,” Fowler murmurs quietly, moving back to the chair, “Give us 30 minutes.”

He hangs up but doesn’t sit back down in his chair. He also doesn’t stop Hank when he sits up once again in bed, “What happened?”

Fowler sighs, “I’m going to go get you discharged and then we’re both going to head over to the clinic here in a few minutes. You good to do this?”

Hank doesn’t need to answer and he doesn’t need to ask as Fowler gets Chris to summon a nurse and starts getting everything set with other officers through his phone. Once Hank’s unhooked from the IV and the monitor and has the papers signed for discharge and has his clothes back in his lap, Fowler finally explains. 

“They need you there. There’s something complicating Connor’s repairs.” 

Hank blinks at him owlishly, not understanding. They’re the technicians. He was just supposed to get Connor there alive. They would be able to fix him up and he and Connor could go have a fucking vacation for a few days. Not..._ this _.

“Like what?”

Fowler shrugs, “Look, all they said to me was something about not having any replacement parts for him.”

Hank’s mouth goes dry, “Wha—”

“We’ll find out when we get there, Hank,” Fowler snaps, far more gently than he usually would have but at this point Hank doesn’t give two shits, “Get dressed and be careful not to fuck up you shoulder or hand anymore, alright?”

Fowler leaves the room, and Hank just stares down at the clothes in his lap. The hammering of his heart returning with a vengeance. 

**7:00 P.M.**

Hank has been inside of android clinics before. When Connor somehow managed to break his arm while walking Sumo. Or when he needed to get a check up of some sort— Hank didn’t really bother asking. Kind of wishes he knew more about android physiology-whatever now that he’s here in this situation. 

The technician that meets them seems to not care for their lack of understanding for part names— or _ biocomponents _— nor does she really seem to be concerned about lengthening her explanation to accommodate. 

“He has a special type of alloy, and, from what you’re officers were telling me about the situation and the recent cases, I can almost guarantee that that has some appeal in why they were being removed,” the technician, named Starr apparently, explains, “But that’s not really the problem.”

Hank messes with the strap of his sling, sighing dramatically, “Then what is, lady?”

Starr ignores his attitude, bringing out charts and pages that look akin to X-Rays, “Whatever happened to him, it looks like some of his internal biocomponents were removed with great accuracy so that they weren’t able to be detected until now. There was no leaking of thirium, and so no immediate threat to life, and none of the taken biocomponents were extremely vital in the short run, but therein lies the problem.”

Hank’s eyes widen, hands clenched into fists as understanding dawns on him, “Why not replace them then? There’s plenty of parts that have been made since the revolution.”

Fowler crosses his arms next to Hank, “That Markus fellow had the scientists in the disbanded Cyberlife to start making them about a month ago.”

“Yes, but this android is a prototype— I haven’t seem anything like him,” she mumbles, placing a finger to her lip and getting a far away look in her eye, “It’s like they knew he couldn’t get parts replaced. Like...if he got damaged he would just..._ die _.”

Hank clenches his jaw, spinning around and putting his face in his hand to prevent himself from punching something. 

Fowler and Starr continue without him just the same.

“Well, that can’t happen. We need to figure something out.”

“Trust me,” Starr says, “I understand but...there’s nothing we _ can _ do if we can’t find compatible biocomponents.”

“How do we know if they’re compatible?” Fowler’s question hangs in the air for a long moment before Starr answers.

“We would just have to do trial and error, but...until then it would just be wasting time. Wasting _ his _ time. Time he doesn’t have much of anymore, if I’m being honest with the two of you. It would be best if they were the original parts that could be brought in if possible.”

Hank shakes his head, “There’s no way we would be able to find the cabin again in time to get the parts and get back here. I don’t even remember most of the drive back to the city. Connor had to use his GPS the entire time.”

Starr’s face darkens, “Yes...that’s the other problem, gentlemen.”

Hank turns back to her and she shrinks a little at his gaze. 

“Connor accessed certain banks in his processor that weren’t meant to be accessed by him. He deleted and rearranged plenty of code and data so that he could access his GPS in low power mode with his reserved energy and—”

Hank runs a hand through his hair viscously, “_ English _, please!”

Fowler cringes but stays silent as Starr tries to figure out how to properly articulate her meaning. 

“When an android is low on power— whether it be from not getting any proper charging or from being damaged a little too much, they’re energy reserves gets focused on their healing program and vital functions— such as air filtration and ventilation, and their thirium pump,” Hank blinks blankly at her, understanding somewhat, “He ignored that in favor of his GPS—it has made it to where there is stresses on his system that can’t get fixed until his biocomponents have been replaced.”

Hank pales, reaching shakily for a chair and collapsing into it before placing his face back into his hands, “Oh…God.”

Fowler clears his throat, “And what else?”

“Pardon?” Starr asks, fumbling with the pen and clipboard in her hands nervously as she gauged the reactions of the two men in front of her. 

“You were going to continue earlier. What else?”

She sighs, pulling her arms behind her back, “He deleted some functions seemingly while messing with his ability to speak, though he should now be able to due to him powering down at some point...it caused some damage that will take a while to repair completely, but that’ll be completely dependent on him,” she shifts uneasily under Hank’s sudden hard glare, “My point is, without his biocomponents his body won't be able to focus on repairing his processor, and at that point he won’t ever be able to wake up.”

Hank feels like he’s just been slapped in the face and probably looks like it too from the pitying look Fowler and Starr both give him in the next moment. 

He swallows thickly, “Never wake up?”

Starr nods, biting her bottom lip.

Hank fumbles with the chair standing and moving away from the two of them quickly. Neither try to stop him as he heads out of the room and leans against the wall outside, still able to listen in. He tries desperately to ignore the way his hand shakes as he tries to process the information given. 

This wasn’t right. He was supposed to fight the battle of getting out of the cabin and getting home so that Connor could get patched up. What...what happened to _ that _ plan? Why the Hell did the kid do all that shit if he literally couldn’t do it without practically killing himself more and more as the minutes went by. The fucking idiot martyr bastard— 

He wanted Hank to go to the hospital even still—-and all this time it was apparently because Connor _ knew _ that he was fucked up beyond repair. Beyond any normal repair, anyways. Where the fuck were they supposed to find parts in the allotted time they had left? 

Inside, he can still hear Fowler trying to figure out their next move. 

“You need to find some way of getting biocomponents for him, but it’s not just one or two. I have a list if you want it, but, my point is that it’d probably just be easier to transfer his processor into a new body. I’ve done it before, but those were with more common models. I don't know if—” 

Hank suddenly feels a warm feeling in his chest. Something to grab onto and hope with and _ feel _ some sort of end to this nightmare coming closer. He pushes off the wall, startling a passing android group as he barrels back into the room, “Jeffery!” 

Fowler jumps, scooting back to be beside Starr as the two of them stare at Hank dubiously.

Hank claps his hands together, “You can put his brain into a new body, right?”

“Um, a-as long as they’re compatible, yes,” Starr says, “but since he’s a prototype—”

Hank waves her off, motioning to Fowler, “The junkyard, Jeffery. Remember, like, a week after the revolution and Connor came back to the station?”

Fowler nods and Hank continues, “We had a case to get rid of all other RK800 models that were never activated because they were _ dangerous_ being left in Cyberlife Tower. Like the one who took me hostage. They were all thrown in—”

“In the junkyard,” Fowler’s face splits in two, “Perfect. Let’s get there then, Hank.”

Hank’s already out the door by the time Fowler agrees, jogging down the corridor. He doesn’t stop for Fowler to talk Tina and Person into coming with, no longer needing them to keep watch for an already dead criminal. 

He doesn’t stop until they’re in the cruiser parked outside and on their way to go save his partner’s life with a new body. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There will of course be an epilogue to this since this is still a cliffhanger. Just to ease everyone's worries <3 Hope you enjoyed!


	10. Epilogue: Heaven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Disclaimer: I own nothing related to Detroit: Become Human.)

_ Rebooting… _

_ Scanning Systems _

_ . _

_ . _

_ . _

_ Diagnostic scan complete: #. (Thirium 97%)... _

_ No errors detected _

_ Power On? _

_ Y/N _

When his eyes open, the room he’s in comes into focus over several long seconds. Pixelated colors dissolve into grey patterned walls with white trim. A closet…

Connor grunts softly, blinking against the faint light streaming in from the window to his right. Streaks of light shimmer down onto the sheets covering his lower body. Connor pauses at that thought. 

A soft pillow cushions his head and the sheets are tucked around his legs, the comforter folded by his feet. Probably for the best, so he doesn’t overheat by accident. Whoever brought him here clearly understands that…

Connor’s eyes gradually widen. Staring blankly up at the ceiling. 

_ Hank tied to a chair across the room, screaming and cursing and looking just as much a wreck as Connor felt. _

Connor’s breath hitches. 

_ Chains draped around him, choking him. Cracking sounds as his legs are torn from his body. Petramy’s smirk as he slices a hole in his abdomen. _

He jerks, sitting up immediately and gripping the sheets around him in a vice-like grip. 

_ The rattle of an engine barely able to function and the petrified yet determined eyes of the person beside him in the driver’s seat—watching him. _

_ Stress Levels: 75%^ _

Connor breathes in deeply, sucking air through his teeth greedily and squeezing his eyes closed. He shakes his head, and eventually the unwanted images fade away. In and out he breaths over and over again. It’s a human technique to calm down. Just focusing on breathing. It’s something he doesn’t _ need _, really. It’s just to regulate his temperature, but focusing on it grounds him. 

It’s something Hank taught him a while back when he was first coping with his deviancy. 

Hank…

That’s when it clicks. The walls, the closet, the sheets. 

Connor glances to the side, noticing that he’s placed on Hank’s bed. The side that is usually vacant. The one that’s never really used by Hank or anyone else. Especially not by Connor who always stays on the couch in the living room. Comforts of cushions and pillows aren’t really necessary for him to power down for the night and recharge, so he doesn’t mind. And it’s Hank’s bed anyways— Hank’s _ room _, actually. Connor tries to stay out of it because he can tell Hank doesn’t appreciate him going in and invading his privacy. 

Which is precisely why he feels confused, ruffling the sheets between his fingers as he continues to examine his surroundings. 

On the bedside table sits a thermometer— a human one. Must have been for Hank. They’re not quite accurate for androids, but it gives a basic idea if someone was desperate. Some rags lay beside it, still damp. Three bottles of thirium sit there as well. Two are empty while the third has about ¾ of the rest of the bottle to go. A napkin sits under it, and Connor is able to see the traces of thirium on it. He then proceeds to notice the traces of it on his shirt collar as well. 

He notices these things with well trained eyes, yet he can’t help the dull confusion that festers at the same time. What did he miss? The last thing he remembered was flashes of being in a truck, sinking into the passenger seat while quiet murmurs came from his left. A gentle grip going and returning to his forearm. Some flashes of red and blue light. Not anything close to..._ this. _

He must have been powered down for a while.

Connor pulls his legs out from under the sheets. He’s in a large black T-Shirt with one of Hank’s favorite bands on it. It’s about two sizes too large, the sleeves coming down past his elbows. Light grey sweatpants cover his legs, also about two sizes too big, but the drawstring is tightened and the legs are rolled up messily so they don’t immediately hinder his movement and balance. 

Connor hums to himself in thought, sliding his legs over the side of the bed. The rest of the room is in it’s normal chaotic state. Clothes strewn across the floor, now pushed off into a pile as though someone attempted to straighten the area up a _ little _. The other side of the bed’s blanket is thrown about and pulled from the foot of the bed, rarely actually made unless Connor mentions something offhandedly. Some magazines sit on the opposite nightstand that weren’t there before. Ones that had been brought in from the living room— Connor recognizes them, though doesn’t know why exactly they’ve been moved.

Connor pushes himself to his feet, expecting for some resistance from his body. Like he might sway or collapse or _ something _. From the state he last remembers his body being in, it wouldn’t be surprising. Instead, he stands strong. His legs accept his weight gracefully and no errors or dialogue screens pop up in his vision. 

Without another thought, Connor moves around the bed and heads for the closed door. 

It doesn’t make a sound when he opens it, and only then does Connor notice that there isn’t much sound in the house at all. No TV audio in the background, or records being played or Sumo’s claws clacking against the kitchen linoleum. 

Connor steps through the doorway, peering down the hall. Only the kitchen light is on, all the window blinds closed and making the inside of the house seem far darker than it should be in the middle of the day. He feels out of place. He has no idea why he was in Hank’s room nor does he know where Hank— 

There’s a clicking sound— a keyboard mouse, and a low grumble that comes from the kitchen table. Gripping his hands together behind his back nervously, Connor moves down the hallway quietly. He doesn’t realize that, in the oversized clothing he’s in, his attempt at perfect posture and a professional eir makes him look quite...silly. He peers around the corner into the kitchen without a word, and almost feels like collapsing right then and there when he sees _ him _. 

Hank sits in a kitchen chair with his back to Connor, a laptop sitting in front of him and Sumo curled at his feet sound asleep. On the screen is the typical format of a debriefing document, usually sent out when something goes wrong in the field while doing an investigation and the officer can’t return to work for some time. Connor had gotten one when Hank got his arm cut deep enough to need stitches by a perpetrator shortly after the revolution had ended and he had insisted on staying at the hospital with him until the following day. He had had to fill out information regarding Hank’s condition and the events that took place, as well as some of his own actions during the event. 

Hank has one now—and Connor knows how much Hank hates doing paperwork. 

Connor takes another step forward and Sumo’s head shoots up. The dog's eyes lock onto Connor’s face and it’s enough to get Hank’s attention. The older man grunts and peers down to his feet under the table, whistling softly to Sumo as his gaze moves away from the computer screen. 

Connor speaks before Hank has a chance to find him staring, “I can do that paperwork for you…”

Hank jumps, his mouse flying off the table as he tries to twist in his seat. It doesn’t quite work, his feet getting tangled with Sumo’s own as the dog and him both try and move away from the table simultaneously. It ends with Hank tripping, colliding with the ground in a cursing heap while Sumo happily trots over to greet Connor. 

“Sonofabitch…” Hank growls, rolling over onto his knees. Connor’s already stepping towards him with his arms out, ready to help him off the floor. 

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you,” Connor hastily says, grabbing Hank’s upper arm, “I just know how much you hate paperwork.”

Hank actually laughs, yanking his arm out of Connor’s grip. It confuses him, and Connor’s about to ask what the problem is—what he said that was wrong— when Hank is suddenly standing _ very _ close. He doesn’t have any time to react before Hank’s arms are suddenly around him, pressing him gently against Hank’s chest as the older man continues to chuckle. 

“Hell, Connor,” Hank says, patting Connor’s back as the android’s own arms come to wrap around Hank uncertainly, “I didn’t hear you get up.”

Connor takes a few moments to decide what to say, “Would you have...preferred I waited in— in bed, instead?”

Hank snorts at the awkwardness of the question, and Connor can’t help the shy smile that creeps onto his face as well, “No, you’re fine. It’s nice seeing you up and about.”

He pauses, steps away from their embrace and looks Connor over. Judging by the way he focuses primarily on Connor’s eyes, it’s safe to assume he’s not referring to anything physically ailing him. 

That...seems a bit off to Connor. Something doesn’t sit right— something doesn’t _ feel _ right. 

“I am feeling..._ good _,” Connor says the word like it tastes weird or something, glancing around the room. For some reason, looking Hank in the eyes proves difficult. Hank doesn’t seem to be suffering the same problem, but each time Connor meets Hank’s gaze, he quickly averts his eyes. Like a pull in his brain keeps tugging his vision away, “Better than I was expecting, considering…”

He doesn’t finish, and Hank’s expression of glee slowly crumbles, “Yeah, I know what you mean, kid.”

“How long have I been unconscious for, Hank?”

It must have been a long time. Even with basic repairs or replacements— things Connor is certain he needed once he made it to the android clinic, it would take a while before his healing program did it’s job and got all the parts properly acclimated to the rest of his body. Probably even longer if any errors came up in the process— which, considering the flashes of his condition that continues to plague his thoughts, _ something _ had to have gone wrong. 

Especially considering the strain he had put on his processors. 

“Well, we got let out of medical custody on Tuesday, and today is Saturday so you do the math,” Hank says slowly, _ obviously _ measuring up Connor’s reaction to the news. 

Four days…

Connor finally looks Hank in the eyes for longer than a split second, “Only four days?”

Hank laughs, turning back to his computer to shut it off, “‘Only’ he says…”

“That doesn’t make any sense, though,” Connor tries to explain, “The amount of damage I recall, the biocomponents missing and the processor damage. I _ know _ that I remember at least some of the extent...it should have been far longer than _ that _ to get repairs done and a processor back online—”

_ Stress Levels: 67%^ _

Connor sways on his feet, yet only Hank seems to notice. He lurches forward, grabbing hold of Connor as though he’s about to full-on collapse. 

“Woah, woah, woah,” Hank’s suddenly steering him to the couch, hands clutching his upper arms. Connor sits down with a soft squeak from the sofa beneath him, “Calm down, son. Just give me a sec, alright?”

Connor clutches his hands together, watching Hank sit down on the coffee table in front of him, finally removing his hands from Connor’s arms.

“I apologize, Hank,” Connor quickly mumbles, “I didn’t mean to ‘spaz out’, as you might call it.”

Hank smiles softly, and it’s a strange look on his face which only rarely shows such tender expressions, “It’s alright, Connor.”

Connor doesn’t say anything else. For the first time since exiting the bedroom, Connor takes in Hank’s own condition. A small cut marrs his lip, leaving a nasty purple and red mark. Faint bruises decorate his temple, a sickly yellow color now. A black hand splint covers one of his hands, and the opposite shoulder seems to slope down slightly.

_ The wooden 2x4 comes crashing down onto Hank’s shoulder, a deafening _ pop _ is the last thing Connor remembers before he’s dived into his processor, rerouting code until his vocal unit can no longer be used… _

Connor flinches but Hank doesn’t seem to notice. 

“You probably don’t remember much after we left the cabin, huh?”

Connor shrugs, and under different circumstances Hank would have smiled at the very much human gesture, “I don’t remember much from the cabin either. Just...flashes, really. Enough to get the gist.”

Hank nods, “After I got done with getting patched up myself, we got a call from the clinic telling us that there were some..._ complications _ with your repairs. With your biocomponents, or, I guess, lack thereof.”

“I suspected that that might be a problem, but I figured specialized parts could be made or _ something _, I know Markus has been working on something for himself and I, as well as other prototype models.”

“Yeah, well, that wasn’t really the actual problem, though,” Connor gives Hank a confused look, “Okay, look. I’m not good with explaining this shit to people, I couldn’t fucking understand it myself, really. So just...cut me a bit of slack here, alright?”

Connor nods. Hank sighs in response. 

“So you, being the idiotic jackass you are, messed up your brain to the point where it needed to get patched up. The doc—mechanic...lady, thing. Whatever the fuck said that in order for your brain to get fixed, your body had to first. Welp, problem was, as you assumed—”

“No such parts really exist…”

“Yes,” Hank grumbles, “_ But, _Fowler and I remembered those other RK800 models. Remember?”

Connor’s eyes grow wide, “We had removed their processors and put them in the android graveyard…”

Hank raises his eyebrows. Guess it was a graveyard to some and a junkyard to others. Maybe there was something to take from this conversation other than stress after all, “Well, that’s the route we ended up taking…”

~~~

_ The junkyard was dank and disgusting and absolutely creepy as fuck. Mud covered everything, water poured in from what looked like a busted water pipe that hadn't been tended to. There was even some actual garbage mixed in with all of it, plastic bottles and god knows what else. _

_ None of that was including the body part strewn about. Severed arms and legs lying discarded. Forgotten. Ignored. A knot grew in Hank’s stomach as he took it all in. He’d never actually _ been _ to one of these places. _

_ It was like Connor said— no one actually cared about the body. The processor was the only thing that androids cared about and the humans, well, Hank can’t say many of them care at all really. About any piece of an android. _

_ Hank slid down the muddy slope, trying to ignore every hard bump he hit on the way down, already knowing what they were but not really wanting to think about it, “Jeffery, you remember where they said they took them in this place?” _

_ Fowler was already wandering the place, gaze lingering on a glitching arm that was twitching only a few feet next to him, “I only got informed they dumped the bodies here, Hank. They didn’t specify.” _

_ “Why the fuck not?” Hank hopped over a torso gleaming red, casing cracked and thirium pump inside completely still. Silent. Dead. _

_ It made Hank want to puke. _

_ “Do you really think they gave a shit at the time? They were just getting rid of trash, as far as they were concerned.” _

_ It took them a good half hour before they finally found what they came for. The bodies were still clothed, skin white and casing revealed even if they were covered in layers of mud. The LED in their temple is what got Hank, though. He stopped breathing for a moment, glancing at the still-open eyes and he had to repeatedly remind himself that these aren’t _ Connor _ , and that they were never alive to begin with. Never ‘turned on’. _

_ Maybe...that was an injustice in the end. _

_ Hank shook his head, trying to get as much mud off the body’s face as he could. _

_ Fowler grunted, coming up behind Hank, “Probably need to get it washed off somewhere before we get it back.” _

_ Fowler’s tone was solemn, his voice quiet. Hank knew that his friend understood what this was like for him. How...messed up this whole situation was. _

_ Staring at the lifeless body of a different Connor...it was like looking at what might have been. _

_ Hank cleared his throat, “My house is on the way, I’ll just rinse him— it off real quick and then we’ll be good to go.” _

_ ~~~ _

Hank doesn’t tell Connor about the complete mental breakdown he had when they did, in fact, get the body home. How Fowler had been waiting in the living room while Hank sprayed down the lifeless body. It would have been better had Fowler done it. With two perfectly usable arms and no emotional baggage, it would have been faster. But knowing they had time...just enough so that Hank could _ have _ this, just for a minute...maybe Fowler decided having Hank do it was better in the long run. 

Hank doesn’t tell Connor how he had sat on the toilet seat, shower head raining down on the RK800, familiar jacket and face and…Hank had just sat on the toilet, face in his hands, and allowed himself a moment to weep and curse whatever God there was for the entire fucking situation. 

“So, you salvaged parts from one of the discarded models?” Connor clarifies, nodding, “Smart. I didn’t think you really remembered those.”

Hank sighs again, probably for the umpteenth billionth time today, “Yeah, I don’t think I could really forget if I tried. The thing is...we didn’t really salvage it.”

Connor squints at him, twiddling his thumbs again, “What?”

“Yeeeeeah…” Hank scratches the back of his head,” It’s more like we salvaged...you.”’

Connor’s eyes grow wide, “Me?”

Hank cringes, waving off any clarifying questions Connor very clearly was geared to ask, “I don’t know the details but the— uh, the damage was too great so they decided instead of taking parts and giving them to you it’d be easier to, well, put you in a new body.”

Connor blink slowly. It was funny. He had been aware of this happening to him before. When deviancy was still a bad thing and Cyberlife was still the ruler of his life. He had been killed, and was transferred to a new body. Up on that skyscraper on his first mission— to save that little girl. He fell and then poof; new body. 

Now, though, even if it makes sense overall it leaves a strange...discomfort. 

“I know that wasn’t really my decision to make, because it’s a big one and I know any human would be uncomfortable with doing that— y’know, if humans _ could _ do that. But, you weren’t exactly _ with it _ enough to decide for yourself, so…” 

~~~

_ “You’re just in time, we have everything prepped,” Starr was there waiting for them in the lobby by the time they got there. Fowler was toting the body in his arms, Hank completely unable to do so. It was hard to ignore the various stares that they were getting, “Come with me.” _

_ They wandered down the hallway, other technicians moving back and forth down the hall as they entered and exited repair rooms. Hank didn’t pay too much attention, though, focused on moving as fast as possible to get back to Connor. _

_ He wasn’t quite expecting Starr to take him and Fowler all the way into the room Connor was held in. She motioned for Fowler to set the body on a workbench that was pushed against the wall. And that’s when Hank’s attention was stolen from his task for the very first time. _

_ There on the table in the middle of the room, hooked up to more machines than Hank cared to count and just as still as Hank remembered, lay Connor. The _ real _ Connor. The one that still had his brain and feelings and emotions. The one that deserved to sleep for an entire month if that’s what he wanted. _

_ Hank gasped softly, noting the various tubes and wires stretching from him. If there was one thing similar between human and android medical procedures, it was how many goddamn tubes and wires they used. Hank was sure of that from past experience. _

_ One snaked straight into a huge hold right under his sternum, big and flashing various colors like a fucking strobe light. A soft clicking told him that one of them was for his android-lung things. To cool him off or whatever. Another was a small little tube running through his mouth, down his throat— blue blood hanging above him. Probably needed it, given how much he lost...He barely understood that, he didn’t want to try and understand the rest of it— much less what the gaping holes in his torso meant and why the handiwork he had done on his legs had been removed in favor of the mutilated stumps that were left behind. _

_ “Hank,” Fowler called, a hand gripping his shoulder, “C’mon. Let’s get out of here.” _

_ Without even thinking it through, Hank shoved off Fowler’s attempt at comfort, glaring daggers at him as the technician worked around him, “No way I’m leaving this room, Jeffery.” _

_ Fowler looked about ready to wrestle Hank out of the room, regardless of his bum arm and hand, but Starr spoke up before he got the chance, “The procedure will only take about ten minutes if you would like to stay. The danger is basically over as of right now since we have the body. Now the only thing to worry about is his processor and allowing it to repair itself once it’s in the new body.” _

_ Fowler’s expression softened at that, “Alright, Hank. Alright…” _

_ Before Hank knew it, he was alone with the technician and Connor’s body…’ _bodies’.

_ She was digging around in his head...gloved coated in blue and a calm yet concentrated look on her face. He didn’t react when she glanced up at him, too focused on staring at the way Connor’s head lolled lifelessly under Starr’s prying hands. _

_ He heard her, though, “The processor will be fine for approximately three minutes without being connected with the rest of the body. Would you like to come...uh, hold it for me while I get the wires ready?” _

_ Hank blinked at her. What did she just ask him? He also just blinked dully when she walked over to him, a small, blue, glowing _ thing _ in her hands. He held his hands out without thinking, staring in wonder as the processor was placed gently into his waiting hands. _

_ “Now be careful not to drop it,” Starr said, knowing that she was warning him for no reason. The look on Hank’s face said all she needed to know about how careful he was being. _

_ It was...heavy. There was a thought. Ever held a human brain? A bunch of slimy bumps molded together, all the interesting synapses inside firing away and creating a human personality with memories and _ everything _ . Everything that makes up a human was in a small little, gooey, blob. _

_ Hank stared down at the small processor in his hands, watching as different lights lit up at different times. Moving in waves across the round surface. Rods jutted out— layers of rings and spheres hooked to one another with wires intertwined within them. Hank suddenly felt very out of his league. _

_ “Um…” Hank mumbled, barely managing to tear his gaze away from the glowing _ thing _ in his hand. He wasn’t sure what to call it. It sure as Hell wasn’t a brain. Definitely wasn’t a machine either. It was just… _

_ Connor. _

_ “I don’t know if I should be…” _

_ “Relax,” Starr was suddenly taking the processor away, returning to the new body and, within a few seconds, everything was done. The processor was in place and Hank watched as system after system began turning on in the new body— chest rising and falling, eyes flicking back and forth under closed lids. Skin began stretching over the plastic casing, hair flickering into existence on top of his head. All of it until finally, _ finally _ , Connor was back. _

_ Starr smiled at Hank’s wonderstruck expression as she cleaned up her tools, removing her gloves, “You did good.” _

~~~

They sit in silence for a solid minute, Connor’s eyes downcast and his heads fiddling with each other while Hank merely watches him with uncertainty. A part of him wonders if Connor is angry at him. He’d be pissed if he woke up in a new body— even if it looked exactly like his current self. But, he knows that the standards for what is weird and what is normal is different for androids, especially when it comes to bodies vs. brains. 

Connor breathes in heavily, finally turning his head up to look at Hank, “Thank you, Hank.”

That catches Hank off guard. He sputters a little, blinking bewilderedly at Connor before finding the right response, “You don’t need to thank me, kid. Jesus Christ, I thought you’d be _ pissed _.”

Connor cracks a smile, “No. I am fine. It is a bit...strange, I must admit. I didn’t think it would be should something like this come to be. I thought it would be the same as before. Maybe my deviancy has affected me and my opinions more than I thought…”

Hank releases the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. He smiles, “Were you feeling attached to that body of yours after all, Connor?”

He runs his fingers over his forearms. Before, he would be able to feel dings and dents— chips in the plastic that weren’t considered _ real _ damage and so were left alone. Sort of like scars, he supposes. And, like scars, each one had a memory attached and now they were just _ gone _.

“Well,” Hank starts, “I think I understand this whole ‘processor matters, body doesn’t’ thing a little more if that makes your busy mind feel any better. You’re clearly my Connor, even if I can tell you're a bit more sleek and shine now— like you were when I first met you.”

Connor smiles, “‘Sleek and shine’. Is that what you thought back then?”

“You know it,” Hank said, standing from the coffee table, “Drove me batshit.”

Connor huffs a small laugh, ceasing in his searching for the grooves in his skin and also moving to stand. He doesn’t move after getting to his feet, though. As Hank moved back to his computer, determined to finish his debriefing document before Connor could even think about doing so, Connor interrupted him. 

“I meant thank you in more than one way, you know.”

Hank turns back to him, hand hovering over the laptop before settling on the surface of the table. Connor stands in the middle of the living room, arms crossed but loose— more out of discomfort than anything else, “You don’t have to thank me for anything, son.”

“But I want to,” Connor insists, “It feels...important.”

Hank moves from foot to foot, “Okay?”

“I, um,” Connor purses his lips, “I keep getting flashes in my memory banks. Things from when we were in the cabin and when we were escaping. They frighten me and send my stress levels up monumentally, but...you’re always there, in them. Always, and so...thank you for that.”

Hank says nothing. Just stares, nails digging into the surface of the table as memories of his own flash through his mind. Of a car crash. Of fighting to be there during that, too. Of failing. 

“For being there and helping me,” Connor continues, “Even after we had escaped.”

Hank nods stiffly, breathing out a heavy sigh through clenched teeth, slapping his hand on the table a few times before moving towards Connor, “Congrats, kid. You made a new record…”

Hank slowly wraps his arms around Connor’s torso, cupping the back of his head and pulling him in close. Connor stiffens for only a moment before melting into the embrace. Hank chuckles wetly, “Got two of these out of me in one day...no one else can really say that.”

Connor doesn’t respond, just buries his face into Hank’s shoulder. He gets flashes while like that. Flashes of a dingy shed and of the spatter of rain on cracked windows and chains clanging together. But he also gets flashes of an elbow cradling his head and of being carried chest-to-chest. Of his hand being held. Things he didn’t even think he remembered. And yet…

“I owe you a thank you, too,” Hank says, not yet pulling away, “I would have died if you haden’t done what you did...even if it was _ incredibly _ stupid.”

Connor smirks, closing his eyes as he absorbs the comfort and safety of the warmth around him. 

“And, um...thank you for holding on,” Hank says quietly, “Holding on for me. Even if it would have been easier to let go.”

Connor’s arms wrap around Hank at that, gripping the t-shirt he wears in between his fingers, “You are welcome, Hank.”

_ Low-Power Mode Activated: _

_ Recharge needed…\\\\# _

_ ...24% until forced power down _

_ . _

_ . _

_ . _

Connor allows Hank to take more of his weight, but it doesn’t go unnoticed by the older man. He pulls away slightly, looking down at Connor’s bleary face. He smiles tenderly, noting the new stoop to Connor’s back— perfect posture forgotten. 

“Need to rest some more, son?”

Connor sighs, rubbing one of his eyes, “It appears so.”

Connor moves to sit back onto the couch, but Hank keeps him up by the upper arms, “Nope, c’mon.”

Connor stumbles after him back into the bedroom. Before Connor can even process what’s happened, he’s back into the same position he woke up in, Hank pulling the sheet around him silently. His processor must still be worn out from having to acclimate to a new body. 

Hank doesn’t seem surprised by his sudden lethargy, and doesn’t say anything until Connor is settled once more, “Anything else you need?”

“No…” Connor murmurs, “g-goodnight, Hank.”

‘It’s afternoon’, Hank wants to say because that’s what he’d normally say, but he doesn’t. He moves to the doorway, “Goodnight, Connor.”

Connor’s already out like a light, and Hank knows that he should go back to finishing his report so that Fowler can close the case properly and everything can go back to how it’s supposed to be.

_ “...thank you for that. For being there and helping me.” _

Hank’s hand still on the doorknob, feeling the way his shoulder still aches and a small headache looms on the horizon in his temples. Hank turns back to look into the room, Connor’s LED flickering a soft blue.

The color it should be.

When Connor wakes 6 hours later in the dead of night, it’s to Hank’s soft snores to his left, pillows pushing him into a sitting up position that he’ll surely complain about tomorrow, a small throw blanket wrapped around him and a magazine beside him. And only then does Connor truly think that everything might be alright.

~END~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HERE'S YOU FLUFF ENJOY!
> 
> Yes, I gave Connor PTSD and Hank and emotional being in his sleep deprived, mentally exhausted and traumatized state. Both will be aight, though. Trust me :)
> 
> That scene with Hank holding Connor's processor was actually one of the scenes I was most excited to write. With Connor appearing human to Hank, can you imagine how jarring it would be for someone who used to hate androids and now has a close friend who's an android to just hold one of their brains and realize that that's all they are. The rest is just photocopy shells, basically. Idk, it was a thought. 
> 
> Thank you to everyone who stuck with this to the end!


End file.
